


The Narrows

by riotoftime



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Background Relationships, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Vigilante Justice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 64,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8598379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riotoftime/pseuds/riotoftime
Summary: Zoro is an upstate New York detective with a much more sinister side.  Fed up with criminals slipping through the cracks of justice, he has taken matters into his own hands.  However, instinct prevents him from following through with his newest victim and nothing goes according to plan.[Inspired by Dexter and True Detective]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This fic is inspired by and alludes to the TV series Dexter. It depicts graphic violence and dark themes, such as violence, gore, death (non-major character), and imprisonment. It also will depict sexual themes and experiences, both implied and graphic. Zoro and Sanji are 26 in this fic and everyone else is aged up accordingly. ZoSan is the main pairing with other side pairings such as LawLu, UsoNa, and Frobin. Art made by aevium.

                                                                    

                                                                           

 

"Fuck!"  

He frowns at the red stain forming on the chest of his white button-up. He fumbles for a napkin,  almost knocking over his water as he rushes to blot the smudge that's ruining his best shirt. After a few minutes of scrubbing, he concedes.  The ketchup has bested him. With a heavy sigh, he returns to his watch and lunch.

Patrons enter and exit the old seafood shack endlessly; it's lunch rush and the restaurant's reputation is high amongst casual diners who need a quick bite on the go. Finishing off the last of his fish and chips, he can understand why. Probably the freshest seafood anyone can get without having to travel to the coast.

Parked inconspicuously in the lot across the street, he continues to observe the joint. This has been his routine for the last four or five days. Jotting notes of the patronage, the peak hours, and the staff's day-to-day, he makes sure anything and everything relevant is scribbled across his pad.

The vibration of his cell phone interrupts his vigil and he grimaces as he reads the name flashing across the screen.

"What?" he answers, peering back at the busy street ahead of him.

"Where are you?" the voice on the other end of the receiver grumbles.

"Busy." He licks his finger and tries to scrub the spot on his shirt but it’s hopeless. "What do you want?"

"Mihawk wants you down here. You'll be late for court," Law sighs, both annoyed and resigned to the fact that he's almost always late for court.

"Gotta buy a new shirt. Be there soon."

He hangs up the phone before the other man can even protest. With one last look at the establishment, Zoro puts his car in gear and heads out to find the closest store.

 

* * *

 

 

Zoro dumps his shoulder bag on his desk amongst a mountain of papers before dropping into his office chair, weary from a long day in court. Gathering his documents neatly to finish his reports, he doesn't even raise his head to acknowledge Law and Mihawk entering the workspace.

"What's the excuse this time?" Mihawk inquires half-heartedly. Zoro knows full well he's only there out of duty as Sergeant of their department, not because he actually cares that Zoro was a little late.

"Had to get a new shirt. Spilled some shit on mine."

"Since when do you care?" Law pipes in from his desk situated in the opposite corner of the room. He's occupied that space since before Zoro joined on as a detective and was assigned to be his partner. A bookshelf crammed full of literature and research of varying subjects sits to his left, overstuffed to the impossible degree of making their small office look even smaller. Zoro's desk is in the other corner near the door, usually clear of any clutter but their recent caseload has caused him to get a little behind on paperwork.

"Since I got chewed out last time I went to court with a stain," Zoro sneers with a contemptuous glance at their boss. Dracule Mihawk may not care about punctuality but to hell with anyone who might show up looking anything less than immaculate. Well-trimmed goatee, clothes always ironed, and never a hair out of place – it's almost exhausting just looking at him. Despite this, Zoro respects him wholly. Mihawk has a presence that not many other men have, one that exudes confidence and demands reverence. There’s a long-standing rumor around the precinct that he'd been offered position of Homicide Lieutenant several times over but he'd always turned it down. Given his calm intensity, Zoro understood why they'd want him. Mihawk is the ideal person to call in for the dirtiest of crime scenes, followed only by himself and Law. He's sure that's why the Sergeant rides their asses so much.

Mihawk nods, accepting Zoro's answer. Turning to head out the door, he pauses before his exit, "Make sure your reports are on my desk by morning. You too, Trafalgar."

They both grumble in acknowledgment as he closes the wooden door to their office. The room settles in an amicable silence accompanied with the random shuffling of papers. As dull as he may be, Zoro is glad that Law is his partner. The other man has never chided him for small talk -- also a very private person -- so they work together pretty peacefully.

An hour passes and he's finishing his last report when Law clears his throat, a telling sign that he wants Zoro's attention. Zoro looks up and finds the man's desk cleared, his folders neatly stacked.

"I have dinner plans," he says plainly.

Zoro nods, only half-interested before realization hits. Law's a workaholic and a recluse – preferring to spend his time crammed in their tiny office or with a very select group of friends. If he has dinner plans, that means…

"Luffy?"

Law nods as he stands, briefcase already slung over shoulder and paperwork under arm. Zoro eyes his impressively tall and slender frame.  His long limbs accentuate his height, making him appear even lankier than he already is. Depressing to look at, dark bags ever-present under his eyes from the hours he puts in at the precinct. Tattoos cover his arms and hands, evidence of his teenage criminality. He says he keeps them to remind himself why he left his old life to become a cop.

"8:30 at Shakky's?"

Law gives him a peculiar look, his normally hazel eyes darkened to a steely grey. A moment passes between them before Law's stern face grimaces.

"We better get going."

 

* * *

 

 

"I'm telling you, a bear would definitely beat a shark."

"No way! Sharks live in water. They got the upper hand."

Zoro rolls his eyes as he takes a swig from his beer, watching Luffy and Usopp bicker over their typical bullshit. The two of them are always going on about something or another. Law, situated across the table from him, frowns into his Jack and Coke, brooding as always. It's obvious he didn't expect this to be a group outing.

"It doesn't make sense, Luffy. Why would a shark be in fresh water where a bear is? If he was, that means he's probably been weakened and a bear could take him out."

Luffy opens his mouth to reply but closes it immediately, giving Zoro a begging glance. Zoro shrugs – he has no fucking clue – and Luffy's shoulders sag in defeat. "Damn man… shut up."

Usopp laughs and flags down the waitress for another round of drinks. The four of them hang out at this bar pretty regularly. It used to be mostly Zoro, Usopp, and Luffy until Law somehow came into the picture. Surprisingly, it wasn't Zoro who introduced him to their group of friends. Luffy had met him somewhere, became fast friends, and started inviting him out. Zoro was surprised when they ran into each other for the first time at a party. He saw enough of that grim bastard at work.

"Long day at work?" Usopp asks as the waitress walks away with their drink order. "Didn't see you at all."

Usopp works in File Management at their station. It's a quiet job, administrative with lots of paper shuffling and organization. Zoro tries to visit him when he can, even if it's just to wave hello. He knows the other man gets bored pretty easily, especially since budget cuts decided that the whole file room is only a one-person job.

"Lots of paperwork," he answers, taking the final swig of his beer and placing the mug at the edge of the table. "And court."

"Any verdicts?" Luffy pounces at the mention of court, bouncing in his seat. He hits Law's shoulder, causing the man to slosh his drink on his cell phone lying on the table. In retaliation, Law jabs Luffy in the ribs with a sharp elbow, provoking him to howl in pain and the bartender to glare at them from across the room. Usopp waves apologetically and leans across the table, squawking at Luffy to shut up.

Zoro grins in an amusement.  Fucking idiots. He spots the waitress out of the corner of his eye, face lighting up as he spies the tray full of drinks in her hand.  She winks at him but he ignores it, providing his immediate attention to the lager. As a guy who enjoys keeping small bars in business, he can always appreciate a place that has good brew and frosty mugs.  Two gulps of beer later, the table has calmed down, Law dabbing the spill with a napkin and Luffy rubbing his ribs with a pout.

"No verdicts, they adjourned for deliberation.  It’ll pick up tomorrow. Defense was a total prick, took up a shitload of time talking," Zoro responds to Luffy's earlier question. Law nods in agreement as he goes back to scrolling through his cell phone.

"Is he guilty?" Usopp asks. The two of them are always entranced in the court cases; Usopp because he spends so much time reading the files when work is slow and Luffy because his grandpa is Deputy Chief of Police. Bizarre that such a troublemaker would be related to such an important presence in their local police, but that's just Luffy. Bizarre. Still, it was a shock when Zoro arrested him the first time and the whole station laughed when he brought the kid in. They'd become pretty close friends after that.

"Definitely," Law replies for him. "Two eye-witness testimonies."

Glancing at his phone, Zoro raises an eyebrow at the digital clock flashed across the screen. Almost time. Catching the waitress' eye, he motions for his check.

"Leaving already?" Luffy pouts into his drink. It's pretty early for him to retire but he has somewhere to be.

"Long day. See you Sunday?" He nods at the waitress as she sets down his check, digging into his pocket and pulling out a couple crumpled bills, enough to pay the tab and tip.

"You know it!" Luffy gives him an enormous grin as he stands. He gives a half wave to Usopp and nods sharply at Law before heading for the door.

The cool night air is refreshing against his skin, the stuffy bar causing a light sheen of sweat on his temple and neck. Walking briskly to his car, Zoro glances at his phone once again. Cutting it close on time. He spots his small SUV in the parking lot and climbs in, quickly turning on his GPS. Normally he hates the damn thing but he doesn't want to risk being late. Directions flash across the screen and he starts the drive to the other side of town.

Twenty minutes later and he's parked discreetly in a row of cars along the street, engine turned off. Through his tinted windows, he surveys his environment. It's a quiet, residential neighborhood with townhouses lined up uniformly. The kind of calm place where most families are tucked away inside by 10 p.m. Driveways and curbsides are full of SUVs and other vehicles comparable to the price-range of his own, helping him blend in easier to his surroundings. One more glance at the clock and Zoro grins. Right on time.

Less than five minutes pass and he spots a figure walking down the sidewalk. Pace even, hands shoved in pockets. Gangly and slender, dark clothing contrasting with light hair. Head down, shoulders shrugged. A distinct, recognizable stride. Slowing speed, the man fishes out a cigarette and cups the lighter, two flicks and its lit, glowing in the distance.

Zoro's dark eyes trail him as he continues his stroll, finally reaching the townhouse across the street and two buildings up from where he's parked. Zoro notes the man fiddling with his lock before swinging the door open and disappearing into the darkness.

Zoro digs his notepad out from under his seat and jots down the time. It's too dark to see his scribbles clearly but he knows that it's the same as the last several nights before. He has a fairly predictable schedule and that makes Zoro's job easier. It's always a little amusing to him how much humans are creatures of habit.

He lets a few more minutes pass before starting his engine again and pulling into the street, heading home to study his notes and continue finalizing his plan. It's Friday night and in their area, the most common night for high crime. He smirks, remembering the bottle of Jameson he has sitting on his counter. There's no point in going to sleep anytime soon. Most likely his phone will ring in a few hours, beckoning him to another crime scene. Another death. Another puzzle to solve in order to bring justice to their city.

 

 

* * *

"Bro, it's gross in there."

"Yeah, bro. Totally gnarly."

Zoro rolls his eyes at the duo in front of the house. Crime scene tape is littered across the lawn of the run down house, officers everywhere, mostly securing the small crowd forming. It's the middle of the night but the flashing lights and sea of uniforms attracts people from their homes to come watch the spectacle.

He stands outside the front door with Johnny and Yosaku, buddies of his from back when he was in blues. Street cops, they had answered a domestic violence call but the damage was worse than they expected when they showed up. As he expected, Zoro received the call from Mihawk around two in the morning.

"I'm sure I've seen worse." He pats Johnny on the shoulder as he walks through the front door. "What room?"

"Bedroom," Yosaku calls after him. They're good guys but would never make it as investigators. Need a strong stomach for this kind of job and that's not a quality either of them possess. They're better off giving speeding tickets and saving cats from trees, day-to-day shit like that.

The house is empty, the noise from out front fading as his footsteps echo down the short hall. A thorough sweep of the house for intruders and then the officers usually wait for his unit to come in. No one wants to be around dead bodies longer than they have to. Zoro doesn't mind -- what he doesn't like is the hustle and bustle of crime scenes. When he and Law show up, the crowd always parts in a sea of relief. Glad that it's someone else's job to study the cadavers and their places of death.

Turning to his left, he finds the bedroom and stops in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. Blood splatters across the wall and bed, man and woman slumped on the floor. With one quick glance, it appears to be a classic murder-suicide, as most domestic violence cases tend to be. A part of him is relieved, not because two people are dead but because it should be an easy case. Not much time to spend here and minimal paperwork on Monday.

"DB's?"

Zoro glances down the hall and spots Law walking in the front door, pulling on gloves over his tattooed fingers.

"Two of 'em," he replies, turning back and taking a step into the room. The scent of blood fills his nostrils, a familiar stench.

"Motive?" Law joins him in the room, frowning at the mess.

"DV. Neighbor heard them arguing."

"Typical," Law says with a sniff. He pulls out his cell phone turns to leave, probably to call Mihawk for a report. Zoro takes a couple more steps closer to the body of the man. A gun lay at his side, gunshot wound in his head. Most likely self-inflicted. He sneers at the sight contemptuously before turning on his heel and exiting the house.

Law's talking to a short, squat woman in the yard. Zoro can tell by his face that he's bored already. Better it's him, then. He walks to his car to grab his kit and camera, avoiding the eager faces of the neighbors watching from behind the yellow tape. They all want the murderers to be caught but spend so much time entertaining themselves with the news stories and crime scenes.  It all seems very hypocritical.

Law escapes his interview, leaving the woman in the hands of Johnny and Yosaku, who are much better at comforting people than he and Zoro ever could be.

"She the one who called?"

"Yeah," Law replies, writing a couple more notes on his pad before tucking it away in his coat pocket. Zoro hands him the camera, pulling gloves out of his bag as they walk back into the house to go through the motions of taking pictures and gathering evidence. The first responders are eager to get to the bodies so they work quickly to get everything they need.

A couple hours later and Zoro is back on the road to return home. The sun will rise soon, just about when he's going to be falling asleep. Times like these are the only moments when he regrets living so far outside of town. His farmhouse is nice but it’s fifteen miles away from the city, where all his friends and his job are within blocks of one another.  But he truly doesn’t mind too much, enjoy the privacy and space. He needs it, more than anyone will ever know.

He drives in silence, not bothering to turn on the radio. It's only morning talk show hosts and cheesy 80's music at this time of day. Buildings and suburbs pass him by before he's surrounded by countryside, expanses of land on either side of the old county road.

Finally making it to his driveway, Zoro's weary body reminds him of his long day. Car parked, engine off, and few long strides and he's at his front door. Letting himself in and locking it behind him, he stretches as he throws his keys on the table, glad to be home. Shuffling to the bedroom, he slumps onto his bed and falls quickly into deep slumber, needing as much rest as possible to prepare for the next night.

 

* * *

 

 

Everything's in place. His car is parked out front, close to the town home but situated far enough away that it's unnoticeable. Bag shoved in the closet. Cell phone turned off. Shoes wrapped in plastic, gloves on, hair tucked under a cap. There can be no evidence.

Hidden in the upstairs bedroom, Zoro crouches on the other side of a large bed and waits. He's been there about an hour, allowing himself ample time to break into the residence and make sure everything is in order. Tucked in his back pocket is a small bottle of chloroform and a rag – just in case. There's no room for error.

He's done this so many times before. At this point, he considers himself almost an expert at home invasion. But there's always that small voice in the back of his mind reminding him that the smallest detail is what makes or breaks a case. It's how he catches so many of the bad guys. They always overlook something. That's why he spends so much time scouting. No detail is too small.

Glancing at the soft glow of a clock sitting on a bedside table, Zoro notes that the man should be home any minute. Alert but distinctly calm, even the adrenaline pumping through his veins doesn't faze him. No matter what may happen, he's confident this will be an easy takedown. He's ready.

Right on time, he hears the jiggle of keys unlocking the door. A few more seconds and the drag of it being pushed open. Zoro keeps his breathing even and his body absolutely still. Keys clank on a table, rustling followed by two soft thumps – shoes coming off – and then a small sigh can be heard from down below. Dim light floods up the stairwell and trickles into the bedroom. Zoro is situated out of its reach, maintaining his position in the shadows, waiting to pounce.

Soft footsteps pad up the stairs with the rhythm and echo of a strut he's observed for days. The smell of cigarettes and seafood loom outside the door as Sanji treads up the hall and turns into the bedroom. A jacket is tossed onto the bed, the cuff of its sleeve grazes Zoro's ear. Moments like this are why he takes his earrings out for these ventures. Small details.

Zoro listens, relying on instinct to determine the position of his victim. He doesn't dare peek around the bed or lift his head an inch. Any glimpse could get him caught and cause a scene that would jeopardize what he's worked so hard to attain. The footsteps have stopped and Zoro hears some shuffling, then the sound of a wooden drawer being pulled open. He must be standing in front of the dresser, which is positioned against the opposite wall on the other side of the bed. This is the moment Zoro was waiting for.

Lightning fast, he ambushes the blond. He's across the room instantly and grabs Sanji, covering a hand over his mouth and wrapping a thick arm around his neck, bicep cutting off his airway. Sanji jumps at the sudden movement and not surprisingly, elbows Zoro in the gut. Undeterred, Zoro clenches his hold harder, removing his hand from over Sanji's mouth and seizing one of his wrists in one fell swoop. Unable to scream or yell due to the hold on his throat, the blond gurgles and gasps for air, his free hand ripping at Zoro's arm and legs kicking wildly, trying to land a blow. Zoro grins at the squirming. Even though it's safer when it's easy, he always loves a fighter. This one's feisty, that's for sure.

Sanji's writhing is weakening, the lack of oxygen impacting his brain and muscles. His kicking and grabbing slows and after a few seconds, then stops completely. Zoro releases his hold and allows his opponent's slender frame to crumple to the floor. Not completely knocked out, Sanji looks up at him, blue eyes wide with confusion, clutching at his throat and trying to catch his breath. Fear paints his face and is illuminated by the yellow hall light, making him seem almost innocent. Not allowing any opportunity for him to get away, Zoro pulls back a fist and delivers a hard punch to the side of his jaw. His head snaps back and in an instant, he's knocked out cold on the floor.

Zoro stands still for a moment, catching his breath. He checks out his forearm, scratches speckle up and down his tanned skin. He feels a bruise forming on his hip from the sharp elbow he took to the gut. Fiery fucker.

Crossing the room, he opens the small closet and grabs the black bag he stashed earlier. Great thing about working for the homicide unit is easy access to body bags. They're perfect for transporting a body inconspicuously. Late at night in the dark most people would glance over and see a stranger carrying a duffel bag or a guitar case. No one expects a body bag.

Zoro unzips the bag and works quickly to roll Sanji's limp body into it. He turns on a light and searches the room for any damage, carefully correcting random bottles of cologne and other miscellaneous shit that was knocked over in the foray. Satisfied with his handiwork, he bends back down to zip up the bag. His hand hesitates on the zipper as he reaches Sanji's throat, his dark eye studying the pale face. Disgust pools in his stomach and he firmly zips the bag all the way, grabbing the small handles and tossing his haul over his shoulder.

Light and thin, albeit a little heavier than expected, Sanji is easy to carry as Zoro leaves the room, turning off lights as he goes. Down the stairs and through the small living space, Zoro reaches the door and opens it a crack, glancing out into the street. As expected, the suburban neighborhood is dark and still. He shifts the body on his shoulder and exits the house discreetly, pulling the door closed and using the spare key he found in the kitchen to lock it. One more look around, he sets across the small lawn to his SUV, unlocking it on the way. Opening the hatchback, he gingerly sets the bag in the back before closing the door and making his way to driver side.

Climbing into the seat, he wastes no time starting up and pulling into the street, tugging the cap off his head and tossing it into the passenger seat. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair and glances in his rearview mirror. No movement from the back. Re-focusing on cautious driving and maintaining the speed limit, Zoro stares straight ahead the long ride home.

As the city lights fade behind him, the road becomes darker and more desolate, no street lamps or houses to keep company. He releases a sigh of relief, knowing once he's made it out of the city his chances of being caught are significantly slimmer. His heart still beats rapidly, knowing his night has just begun.

He pulls into his driveway, his dark house waiting under the moonlight. Parking the car in the dirt drive, he swiftly hops out and retrieves the body from the back, not wanting to risk Sanji waking up.

Fumbling for his keys, Zoro pauses in front of his oak entryway. It's aged but durable, just like the rest of his house. Early 1900s according to the auctioneer he purchased it from. It needed some work and Zoro handled most of the updates himself, recruiting his friends to help with easier tasks like painting. Luckily, he got to customize certain parts of it during the revision. Sections of the home unknown to others cater to his specific needs.

Shoving the door open, Zoro makes his way into the living room, dropping his keys onto the table. He rapidly treads to the back of the house and enters his bedroom. He sets Sanji down on the bed before turning on the light, squinting slightly at the brightness filling the room. It's cozy, oversized furniture filling in the space. He doesn't need much, just a bed, dresser, and table.

He opens the closet door, a small walk-in that's sparse with a few work suits and shirts. Kneeling to the floor, he reaches into the back corner and picks at a piece of the carpet, digging his fingers underneath and pulling it back to reveal a trapdoor. He yanks on the handle to jerk it open and stands, returning to the bed to pick up Sanji once more. Carefully, he begins his descent down the steep wooden stairs onto the dark landing. He expertly takes two steps forward and pauses at a thick heavy door, mechanically unlatching several locks as he has many times before.

Shouldering the door open he enters the vast cellar, a part of his home that he's kept secret for the few years he's lived here. Flipping a switch to the left of the door, the open space fills with a murky, yellow light from a singular bulb that hangs in the middle of the room. Underneath sits a large chair with straps attached to the arms and legs. A workbench stretches across the sidewall, stopping at a thin door that leads to an old, rustic bathroom that still has original plumbing. At the back of the room is a large furnace, a stack of wood and coal piled high by it. In the opposite corner, a hose hangs off the wall, long enough to stretch to the center of the room and reach the drain that sits underneath the metal chair.

Placing the bag on the ground by the chair, he unzips and finds Sanji still knocked out, breathing shallow from stifling conditions. Zoro hoists the limber frame out of the carrier and into the chair, sitting him upright. He fastens the straps around Sanji's wrists and ankles, fingers working with skill and speed of experience. The last strap goes around the halo of blond hair and across the forehead, tight enough to keep his head straight and forward.

He rolls up the bag before walking to his workbench and pulls a small set of keys out of his pocket. Unlocking one of the cabinets, he shoves his tools back in, including the bottle of chloroform from his back pocket. Zoro grins; it's the eighth hunt in a row where he hasn't needed to use it. A personal best.

A small cassette player is bolted to the counter of the workbench. Zoro keeps everything bolted down or locked up, not wanting the risk of anyone ever getting loose and trying to use miscellaneous items as weapons. Unlocking another cabinet, he pulls down an old metal box and a fabric case of knives. As he unrolls the kit, his knives gleam in the soft light, their sharp edges glistening and almost begging Zoro to use them.  Catching his own eye in their reflection, he smirks, knowing their hunger will be satisfied soon.

Opening the metal case, he digs into the box of cassette tapes. He found them down here, along with the cassette player, when cleaning out and modifying the space. They're old, music from the 40's and 50's but that's what he likes. Classic. Vintage. Easy to listen to. Picking one at random, he reads the name and pushes it into the player, satisfied to settle on Sinatra. Keeping the volume down low, he traverses to the other side of the room and takes the hose off the wall, dragging it to the center. Twisting the nozzle slightly, a soft cold stream trickles out and he splashes the water on Sanji's face in an attempt to wake him up.

Sanji blinks once, then twice, and slowly his eyes open. Zoro watches the confusion spread across his pallid face as he glares at the seated man, hose still in hand.

"Wh-where am I?" Sanji asks hazily, still impacted by the blow to the head he took earlier.

"In Hell."

Sanji's eyes widen, the gravity of his situation becoming more evident on his features. He tries to stand but is quickly made aware of the thick leather straps pinning his hands and legs down. He tries to move his head to look but can't, trapped by the chair. His blue eyes dart wildly around the room before landing on a stern face. 

Zoro smiles menacingly, enjoying the desperation and anger that rises from Sanji as seconds tick by.

"Who are you? What the fuck is going on here?" Sanji's voice breaks at the end, his words spat furiously but panic masked underneath the rage.

"Nobody. Just doing my duty."

"Duty? What the hell?"

Zoro drops the hose on the floor and kicks it away before leaning in close to Sanji, hands resting on the other man's thin forearms strapped to either side of the chair. He can feel the skin underneath his palms rising in fear. Faces close, his dark eye bores into Sanji's with loathing.

"To serve justice to scum like you."

He grips his hands tight around Sanji's arms, bruising the pale flesh. Sanji winces as Zoro continues in a low rumble, "Murderers, rapists. Criminals who thought they got away. I make sure you don't."

He stands again, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring down at Sanji.

"What the fuck makes you think I'm like that? I'm no murderer or rapist. I would never – "

Zoro shoots his hand out and grabs Sanji by the throat, completely cutting him off. Through gritted teeth, he growls, "Can't any of you just admit it?  Wouldn’t do this without proof. Not a murderer. Not like you."

With one last squeeze he lets go of Sanji's slender neck, causing him to cough from the sudden outburst. He walks over to the workbench and picks up a long, sharp knife, toying with it in his palm as he turns around and watches his prisoner.

Something feels off, deep in his gut as he eyes the blond's body shaking with coughs. He begins mentally reviewing the night, making sure he hasn't left out a single piece of the puzzle. He has the proof; he's done his watch. Everything checks out. No evidence was left at the apartment, no risk of anyone seeing him. Doors are locked. Tools are ready. Nothing is awry. But still, he can't shake this gnawing feeling…

A guttural noise interrupts his thoughts. Zoro looks up from his knife to find Sanji's chest rising and falling heavily, his breathing quick and ragged. His eyes affixed upon the blade.

"I'm not a fucking murderer!" Sanji roars from his seat, voice raspy. He tries jerking his arms and legs from the straps but they're too tight. Zoro gazes on as the man attempts to use his torso to shake the chair but it's no use – he has it bolted down for that very reason.

Zoro tucks the knife into his back pocket and turns back the bench, unlocking and opening a drawer underneath the cassette player. Pulling out a manila folder, he pages through it swiftly and finds what he needs. Taking a photo from the pages, he throws the folder on the counter and approaches Sanji's chair, holding the picture out in front of him. It depicts a young, pretty girl laid across a tan carpet, dark bloodstains pooling underneath her from her bludgeoned head.

"Remember her?" Zoro asks as Sanji stares at the photo. Disbelief seems to shroud his face, making Zoro raise an eyebrow. This guy's acting skills are good.

"Cosette? Heard she was missing but… I didn't know…" Sanji's voice trails off at the end, quivering slightly.

"You did know. You did this to her." Zoro responds coldly, tossing the photo in Sanji's lap. "Took her out for coffee and then you killed her."

Sanji jerks his head as much as he can to glower indignantly at Zoro.

"I would never lay my hands on a woman like that!"

Zoro wants to believe him; the man looks like he believes himself. But the video evidence, the definitive proof, says otherwise. He reaches his hand back to his pocket, his fingers hesitating slightly on the handle of the knife.

"Is this why the cops came and asked me about her?" Sanji questions, his eyes cold and calculating. Not allowing time for an answer, he blurts, "Wait - I know you!"

Zoro removes his hand from knife and places it on his hip, looking quizzically down at Sanji.

"You came by my restaurant the other day. I remember the hair. You had a badge… you're a cop?!"

"Told you, I'm nobody." He responds, walking slowly around the chair to stand behind Sanji, where the man can't see him. Truthfully, he wanted to get out from under his stare. As every minute goes by, Zoro feels more and more hesitant about this kill -- a feeling he’s never experienced.  "Doesn't matter. You have to pay for your sins."

He grabs the knife from his back pocket and reaches around Sanji's head, firmly pressing the tip of the blade against his neck. The room goes silent and everything stands still. Heartbeats pass between them, Zoro pressing steel firmly against flesh, enough pressure to break the skin and cause blood to trickle. He feels Sanji gulp from beneath the knife.

His instincts gnaw at him, his inner voice whispering at him to stop. His mind knows that this man before him is a murderer but deep down, his gut is telling him otherwise. Something just isn't right. Removing the knife he steps back and studies the top of Sanji's head. Despite what he may know, he can't allow himself to go against instinct. For the first time, Zoro Roronoa steps away from his kill. He returns to the other side of the room and tucks his knife back in its spot.

He has to do more research.

Glancing back at Sanji, he’s met with an expression of confusion and horror. Crimson blood creeps down his neck and pools on the collar of his shirt. Zoro begins packing up his supplies, ignoring the other man. He needs to think.

He stops the music abruptly, dropping the tape back into its box. He pushes the metal container and his knife kit back into the cabinet and reaches for a rag before locking it. He feels Sanji's gaze on him the whole time, tension of uncertainty rising in the room.

Before he can say another word, Zoro treads back and grips Sanji's jaw hard, forcing out a sharp cry. He takes the opportunity to shove a rag into his mouth, no wanting to risk the man screaming all night.

The foreign feeling of uneasiness continues to rise in his chest; he gives one last glare to Sanji then promptly stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him and latching each lock. He leans his sweaty forehead against the cool cellar door and closes his eyes. He needs to sleep on this and hopefully the morning will bring clarity.

Pushing himself off the door, he climbs the steep stairs and hoists himself out of the hole in the floor. He closes the trap door and returns the carpet to its rightful place before collapsing on his bed, trying to disregard the unfulfilled lust for the kill and the skepticism of his intuition.


	2. Chapter 2

Sanji's breath hitches as the door closes; it's slam still echoing off the cement walls. Locks twist and latch on the other side as realization hits. That psycho plans on keeping him tied up here. The rag in his mouth prevents him from making any noise other than faint grunts. There's no use trying to scream.

His neck aches from the position of his head. The leather strap against his forehead is cutting into his temple and making it impossible to turn his neck. He needs to assess his condition but can only stare straight ahead at a long wall of cabinets. Clenching a fist, he pulls angrily at the straps binding his wrist to the chair. No use. He tries to kick his feet as hard as he can to free his ankles but they're bound too tight.

Closing his eyes, Sanji breathes in deeply through his nose. He has to be smart about this. If there's any hope in getting out alive, he has to have a plan. His nose twitches, a strong smell of bleach hitting him full force. He'd been too panicked, too angry earlier to even notice it. Underneath the stench of bleach is another scent, fainter. He can't place it but it makes him even more uncomfortable, as if the odor is exactly what the bleach is trying to cover up.

Suddenly, he hears footsteps. Unable to look towards the noise, he holds his breath trying to listen closely to the faint sounds. A loud thud, two thumps, and then silence. He waits a few more seconds before exhaling. It sounded like someone walking above him, which means wherever he is has multiple stories. From the look of the cement walls, cracked floor, and dreary lighting, he must be in some kind of basement.

His heart starts pounding - he's read about this before. People being kidnapped and imprisoned for months on end. He remembers one girl was captured for eighteen fucking years and no one knew she was locked in a shed. There's no way in hell that bastard is going to keep him down here like that. He'd rather die.

Goosebumps rise across his pale skin, making him acutely aware of the cold sweat covering his body. That man - the psycho - wanted to kill him. Was going to kill him before he just walked out. Is this part of the game? Does he just fuck with his victims and torture them before murdering them in cold blood? The cut on his neck burns, a sick reminder of what may come.

He has got to get out of this chair.

With renewed vigor, he starts pulling at his straps again, gritting his teeth on the rag in his mouth out of rage. Deep, guttural growls escape his throat as he tugs and tears, desperately attempting to loosen one of them, even if only a sliver. His wrists and ankles will be bruised but he doesn't care, the only thing that matters right now is trying to get free.

It feels like hours pass as he tries to shake himself out of this prison. Muscles burning, body aching, chest tightening from anger and fear. No matter how hard he tries, he feels no progress. With one final huff he stops the resistance, closing his eyes once more. Breathing ragged and heavy, the cotton in his dry mouth is tickling his throat. He wills himself to not cough and choke on the damn thing. His heavy breathing coupled with the strong scent of bleach is making him lightheaded. He doesn't want to pass out but feels the weight in his head pushing him further and further into the black hole of unconsciousness. One last rebellious kick against the metal chair and darkness washes over him completely.

 

* * *

 

The sound of a door closing rouses Sanji from his uncomfortable sleep. Immediately, his eyes fly open and he watches the man from the night before come within range of his vision. His neck throbs and his back aches, his ankles and wrists feel swollen from his earlier tirade. Body exhausted, emotionally drained, he musters all the willpower he has left inside him to start formulating some kind of plan. No matter what, survival is his main priority.

The bastard shoots a quick glance at Sanji before turning to what appears to be a workbench in front of where he sits. Sanji watches carefully as the man digs into the pocket of his black sweatpants, pulls out a set of keys, and starts unlocking cabinets and removing random items from them. Sanji's eyes trail up the man's body, trying to assess his opponent and determine any potential weakness. His legs are shorter than Sanji's even though they appear to be the same height from his seated position. However, he's distinctly more muscular, his shirtless form showing off broad shoulders and a well built back. Sanji catches glimpse of the man's bicep as he closes a cabinet and gulps, feeling its strength and power ghosting against his throat once more. The fucker could easily snap Sanji's neck with his bare hands.

Finished with his task, the other man turns around and stares straight at Sanji. Their eyes meet and for the first time, Sanji notices a jagged scar running down the man's eye. Sanji drops the steely gaze and is shocked to see a more gruesome scar slashed across the man's torso, shoulder to hip.

His heart rate increases as the man begins walking towards him, unsure of what to expect next. A large, tanned hand reaches up and tugs the rag out of his mouth, causing him to cough and dry heave.

"W-water." he rasps through coughs, desperately needing anything to help his tongue from feeling like sand.

The man reaches down and disappears from Sanji's sight for a brief flash before reappearing with a hose in hand. Sanji eagerly opens his mouth as the nozzle is turned so a light trickle flows. It's held over his tongue at the perfect angle for those drops of pure bliss to reach his parched mouth. Swallowing as much as he's allowed, Sanji sighs at the cool drink before the hose is removed and dropped back on the floor.

Silence hangs between them, unspoken words lingering in the air. Finally, Sanji takes a breath and tentatively asks, "Are you going to kill me?"

For some fucked up reason, the other man smirks at his inquiry.

"Eager to die, huh? Guilty conscience? Have something to confess?"

Shit. Sanji didn't realize his question would cause this kind of reaction. The last thing he wants is for the psychopath to think he's actually guilty of some crime. Making sure his tone is even, he carefully responds, "Not at all. Just trying to determine my fate."

"That's for me to decide."

Choosing to avoid questions that might push his captor over the edge, Sanji silently shifts uncomfortably in his seat. His neck is burning from being held in the same position for hours. The other man is just staring at him, seemingly contemplative over what to do next. Fuck. Sanji hopes he isn't trying to figure out what kind of torture method is best.

Abruptly, the man walks out of Sanji's field of vision around to behind the chair. He can hear him fiddling with something and then unexpectedly, the pressure around his forehead is gone. The leather strap falls to the side, tickling his ear slightly as it goes. Tentatively moving his head, Sanji is elated to find he's freed completely from the binding. Stretching and rolling his neck, he allows himself to celebrate this small victory with relief.

"Are you letting me go?" he demands, his newfound freedom giving him a boost of confidence. A large, strong hand grabs his hair in a tight fist and yanks his head upwards, so that Sanji's neck is bent and he's glaring into the scarred face of the man looming behind him.

"No."

The man shoves his head forward, releasing him and walks back around near his workbench. He slides out a wooden stool that's tucked away in the corner and sets it right in front of Sanji, taking a seat. Leaning forward slightly, he runs a hand through his own hair. Sanji arches an eyebrow slightly at its greenish tint.

"Give a man an inch and he wants a mile," his captor mutters, his deep voice dripping with disdain.

What kind of old man shit is that? It's the kind of grandpa lingo his dad used to use. As much as he wants to mock the Green Haired Bastard, he bites his tongue, smart enough to know that whatever witty comeback he's itching to deliver is not worth the possibility of death.

Green Bastard's stare is heavy, even though one eye is scarred and closed. Sanji feels the glare penetrating him deeply, as if his soul is being studied. As much as he wants to look away, he feels trapped by the forceful eye contact. The man’s expression is unreadable but there seems to be a flicker of uncertainty hidden behind his eye. Sanji's not sure if it's truly there or if that's just wishful thinking.

"You killed that girl." It's a statement, not a question – as though the man believes what he's accusing Sanji of wholeheartedly.

Sanji's temper flares. There's no fucking way he'd ever hurt an innocent person – especially a sweet girl like Cosette. Anybody who knows Sanji could tell him that. He's not capable of that kind of cruelty.

"You have the wrong guy," he responds through gritted teeth. "You don't know who I am."

An eye roll. And then a smirk.

"Sanji Black. 26 years old. Date of birth: March 2nd…"

Sanji gasps as the man stands from his stool and drags it back to its home across the room, all the while rattling off facts about his life monotonously, as though they're ingrained in his mind.

"…Height: 5'11''. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Head chef at Baratie seafood…"

Green Bastard grabs the rag from earlier and balls it up. Sanji instinctively turns his head but the man grips his jaw tightly and forces the material into his mouth.

"…Father deceased. No mother. No siblings. Smoke two packs a day. Menthols."

Sanji's heart beats rapidly, only able to stare as the man walks back the door. Fingers resting on the handle, he turns around and delivers one last piercing look.

"I know who you are."

 

 

* * *

Upstairs, Zoro sits on the edge of his bed, hands clasped and eyes focused on his closet. He's always been proud of how well concealed this other part of his life is. Closet door wide open, there's no evidence that a secret resides right underneath the carpet. But now, everything is at risk because of that dumb fuck down in the cellar.

He hoped that random feeling of uncertainty was just exhaustion or stress, some fucked up fleeting moment. However, when he went downstairs this morning he still felt the same. As much as he knows that the guy tied up in his basement is the one who mutilated an innocent woman, his instincts keep screaming at him that he can't kill him.

Zoro stands, stretching his arms and back. Scratching his chest, he keeps his eye on the closet. Even though he has all the proof he needs, his intuition needs something more. Just have to keep digging.

A small tinge of guilt bubbles inside him. What if he messed up and the guy is innocent? It's not likely but considering how he's felt since last night, it's not impossible. This is new territory for Zoro and in this line of work, change is not good. There's no way he can let Sanji go – there's evidence that points to him being a murderer. And he's seen Zoro's face, which is not to be taken lightly. If he lets this guy go, that means accusations, charges, investigations. At best, he's found not guilty and loses his career. At worst, he's put on death row. Either way, it doesn't look too good for him.

Zoro scratches the back of his head and sighs. Sanji's just going to have to stay down there until he figures it all out.

Grabbing the white t-shirt that's slung across the foot of his bed, Zoro tugs it on as he leaves his bedroom. Reaching the kitchen, he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and twists the cap off before noticing a small bundle sleeping on the counter by him.

"Mornin' Oni," he murmurs, reaching over and patting the warm black and white body. The cat wakes and stretches, nuzzling her face against Zoro's hand.

Gulping down some water, he continues to pet Oni a few more minutes, gazing out his kitchen window to the shed in the back.

After tossing his bottle in the bin, he opens a small kitchen drawer and digs out the keys to the shed. Heading out the door, he hesitates a moment, letting the petite cat follow behind. Ever since he found her when she was a kitten, she's followed him all around the property. The two of them make their way across the yard, sun high in the sky. It's going to be a hot summer this year if these first few weeks of June are any indication.

Reaching the shed, he unlocks the hefty lock and sets it on the ground, pulling open the wooden doors. It's jam packed full of miscellaneous junk. Stuff he found in the house and decided to keep, stuff that was already in the shed, stuff he's collected over time. Lots of random tools, some furniture he doesn't use, and wood for his various projects around the house.

Spotting what he needs, he carefully moves two old tires and a wheelbarrow out of the way. Oni lingers outside, cleaning her face while watching him work. Junk aside, he reaches a dusty twin mattress and slides it out of the shed. It's a little dirty and worn, but it'll do the trick. He locks everything back up before hoisting the mattress on his shoulders and the two are on their way to the house.

Inside, Oni returns to the kitchen and Zoro hears the small crunches of her eating breakfast. His own stomach rumbles but first, he has to finish his task. Dragging the mattress down the hall into his bedroom, he sets it on the floor and moves to his closet, mentally calculating if it'll squeeze through the opening. Carpet aside and trapdoor open, he's pleased to find that it should just fit.

Zoro pushes the mattress into the closet and down the steep stairs to the landing below. The landing is small, very little space between the edge of the wooden staircase and the heavy door, so Zoro leans the mattress against his back as he unlatches the bolts.

He hauls the mattress into the room, feeling Sanji's eyes on him the whole time. Deciding to place it in the back corner, opposite side of the room from his furnace, he moves the bed to its dwelling. Pointedly ignoring the blond gawking at him, he treads back across the room for his tools.

The items he dug out during his earlier visit are still scattered across his workbench: a heavy-duty drill, bolts, and a pair of leg cuffs he had found in the home of one of his casualties. Sick fuck had used them to tie up and torture people. Bundling the items in his arms, he sets back to the mattress and starts his project.

A couple hours pass before his work is complete, sweat dripping down his forehead from the strength needed to drill into the heavy cement walls. Sanji had tried to get his attention the whole time with rattling his chair, but it was easy to tune out with the drill. Pleased with his handiwork, he pulls forcefully at the cuffs one more time, making sure they're tight and secure.

He wipes his brow with his arm and glances over at Sanji, whose head is turned so he can peek around the chair and watch what Zoro is doing. His eyes are wide with understanding of the circumstances and Zoro can tell that any attempt to get the little shit into these cuffs will be a battle. Luckily, it's one he doesn't have to fight.

Zoro reaches into his pocket and pulls out gloves and a small plastic bag, inside a rag soaking in chloroform. Pulling the neck of his t-shirt over his own nose and mouth, he tugs on the gloves. Positioning himself right behind the chair, his hands are already opening the bag and removing his weapon. With one hand he grabs Sanji's hair and with the other, he forces the rag over his nose. Sanji tries to fight underneath him, attempting to shake his head loose but Zoro's grip is stronger, keeping the rag forced over his nose. The man grunts and squirms under his hold, pulling on his straps hard to try to shake himself free. Zoro rolls his eyes at the pointless display.

A couple minutes pass before Sanji's body stops fighting and goes limp. Zoro quickly stuffs the rag back into the plastic bag and tosses it aside, needing to work fast. Moving around the chair, he unfastens the straps and slings Sanji over his shoulder, moving him to his new home on the mattress. Fastening the leg cuffs around his ankles, Zoro makes sure they're locked and secure, tugging on them as hard as he can. There are a few feet of chain if he wants to move and roam, but not nearly enough to be within reach of anything vital. His feet are close together, so any attempt to run or kick is impossible. He handcuffs Sanji's wrists together behind his body, rendering him unable to fight.

Zoro leans over and checks the man's breathing, making sure there were no serious side effects of the chloroform. Satisfied with its steadiness, he stands back up and gathers his tools, returning them to their rightful places in the workbench. Noticing the hose still laying across the floor, he rolls it back up to its position on the wall.

Cellar completely clean, Zoro starts back to the main level of the house, making sure to lock up the door before climbing the stairs. Trapdoor latched, carpet replaced, shoes scattered back over the floor of the closet and it's like nothing ever happened. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices his cell phone flashing on his nightstand. Picking it up, he's surprised to see he has four missed calls from Nami.

Before he can caller her back, his phone starts vibrating in his hand, Luffy's name flashing across the screen.

"What?" he answers, his typical greeting. He hates talking on the phone.

"Hey! It's me!" Luffy says with a laugh, as if it would be anyone else. "On our way. Have lunch yet?"

Zoro glances at the small alarm clock by his bed, shocked to see it’s almost noon.

There's some rustling on the other side of the receiver, a sudden noise from Luffy and then an agitated voice shouts into Zoro's ear, "Why didn't you answer my calls?!"

Zoro groans in response. Nami can be a great person but she's got a sharp temper. Not answering her first few phone calls is sure to land him a special place on her shit list.

"Don't you groan at me. You'll answer Luffy's call but not mine?"

"Was busy," he mutters as he wanders into his small bathroom to rinse his face.

"Sure you were. Anyway, we're about to leave and bringing lunch. What do you want from Groggy's?"

Groggy's.  A local burger joint that makes monstrous burgers, several patties stacked on each other with every possible topping. It's amazing, and more importantly, its Luffy's favorite place to eat. Zoro's stomach rumbles as he contemplates his options, reminding him he hasn't eaten at all today.

"Monster cheeseburger with a large fry. All the toppings."

"OK but you owe me when I get there."

"Like you'd ever buy me lunch."

"You're buying me lunch since I'm picking it up. See ya in a bit!"

Nami hangs up the phone before Zoro can protest. He sighs, used to it by now.

Deciding to take a shower before company arrives, he turns on the faucet to let the water warm up. He strips, tossing his sweaty clothes into the small laundry basket in the corner. A little head pokes in the door, whiskers twitching at the sound of the shower. Oni has always enjoyed water. Her favorite game is sticking her paws in the shower stream while Zoro washes.

Zoro clambers in and groans, tension melting under the warm water. Not being one to take too long bathing, he quickly lathers his soap and mechanically begins his routine, the whole shower taking less than ten minutes. He pauses as he washes his hair, his thoughts trailing back to the man in his cellar. Tonight, he tells himself, he will go over all his research. Hell, he'll stay up all night if he has to. He must find out the truth.

Rinsing his hair, he smirks as he spots a little white paw clawing at random drops of water splashing on the shower curtain. Finishing his routine, he turns the water off and grabs the towel slung over the rack. He dries himself down and exits the small bathroom, hair still dripping on his shoulders. Opening his drawers, he pulls out whatever's on top and dresses for the day. Returning to the bathroom to hang his towel back up, he takes a glimpse of himself in the mirror and notices his earrings are still missing from the night before. Locating them in his medicine cabinet, he twists each one into his lobe and clasps them tight. Once all three are returned, he nods at his reflection, glad to hear the soft tinkling of metal again.

The earrings were Johnny and Yosaku's idea. It was early in Zoro's career, back when he was a traffic cop. The three of them would spend their time off in a local pub called Whiskey Peak getting piss drunk on cheap beer. One night, they decided that getting pierced would be a true testament to their manhood. Although incredibly stupid, Zoro was inebriated enough to go along with it, buying into their drunken ramblings of how cool it would be.

Completely plastered, they found the only tattoo shop that would ignore their obvious lack of sobriety. First, Johnny got one ear pierced. Deciding to one-up him, Yosaku declared he would be twice as cool and get both his ears pierced. Not being one to shy away from a challenge, Zoro asked for three holes in his ear and was dubbed the "manliest of men" by Johnny and Yosaku. Both of their ears got infected and they took their earrings out but Zoro always kept his. He hadn't expected it, but they suited him.

Hearing tires hitting the dirt and gravel of his driveway, Zoro makes his way to the front of the house and opens his front door in time to greet Nami and Luffy as they park her black sedan. Luffy bounds up the stairs, two bags of food in hand and greets him with a smile, impatient as always to sit down and eat.

Nami walks in behind him, annoyance across her face, "It took an act of god to keep him from eating all the fries."

Zoro chuckles as he closes the door behind her. Already seated at the dining room table, Luffy's ripping into the greasy paper bags trying to find his sandwich.

"Hold it right there." Nami yells, tearing the bag away from Luffy's eager hands, causing him to pout. "I will pass out the food so you don't 'accidentally' eat my burger like last time."

"Yeah, okay." Luffy agrees, with a sheepish chuckle as Nami pulls out three burgers and divvies them up appropriately.

Zoro takes a seat across from Luffy, shredding his own metallic wrapper and digging into his burger hungrily. They eat in silence for a brief moment, all enjoying the first few bites of their lunches in bliss. The owner might be a total creep, but Groggy's is still the best.

Finally Luffy belches and asks, "Where's Oni?"

"Probably sleeping under my bed. She'll come out," Zoro responds between bites.

"Zoro, you need a roommate or a girlfriend or something," Nami declares, setting her burger down and putting on what Usopp calls her "professor" face. Anytime she's about to lecture or educate one of them, she makes the same face, falsely sweet but also patronizing.

He avoids her comment and continues his lunch, slapping Luffy's greedy fingers away from his fries.

"I'm serious!" She puts her hands on her hips, scowling because neither he nor Luffy are paying attention to her great wisdoms.

"Zoro's fine, he's got Oni." Luffy answers for him. As a gesture of thanks, Zoro lets him pilfer two fries.

"Literally all of us have someone else, Luffy. He's the only single person in our group, except Chopper," Nami continues, starting phase two of being annoying. If the professor look doesn't work, then talking about someone like they're not in the room is her next tactic.

Luffy shrugs, polishing off the last of his fries. Zoro licks his fingers clean of the salt from his own meal, patting his gut in satisfaction.

"Enjoy your meals?" Nami asks, eyeing the two of them as they lean back in their chairs, sighing in unison.

"Hell yeah, Groggy's is the best." Luffy nods, on the edge of a food coma. It takes a Double Monster Bacon Cheeseburger to do the trick, but it's one of the few places that can actually fill him up. Kid's got a killer metabolism.

"Good. Zoro, you owe me thirty bucks."

That got his attention. Zoro turns to glare at her smiling face as she nibbles on her sandwich. "How the hell is it thirty bucks?"

"Mine and yours," she points to her sandwich and then to his stomach before moving her manicured finger to Luffy, "and his."

"Where's your part?" Zoro asks Luffy as he stands to find his wallet.

"I'm broke," he laughs before spotting Oni walking into the room. "Oni! There you are!"

Immediately the two of them are off chasing each other up and down the hall. Luffy's one of those rare people that can make the usually shy cat want to play. This is their normal ritual, playing tag around the house before they get bored with it and roll around on the floor.

Down in the cellar, Sanji's managed to wake himself up despite the drugged haze he feels in his head. Whatever was on that rag from earlier did a number on his pounding skull. He sits up awkwardly, his hands cuffed behind him making it hard to find a comfortable position. Shuffling around on the mattress, he manages to sit straight and take in his new surroundings. The mattress is grimy and there's no blankets or pillows, but it's more comfortable than that metal chair. His back is already feeling better.

His headache gets worse with every step that thumps above him, as though someone was running across the floor. He may be happy to be out of the chair but certainly not happy to be in this new position. The mattress and the shackles means the Green Bastard plans on keeping him here long term. His stomach groans in hunger and his mouth is dry from the rag forced into it. Now more than ever, he's motivated to find a way out of the cellar.

Tentatively, he rattles his chain to see how much noise it makes. Not too much, but maybe enough to be noticeable. Considering he'd heard the mumble of several voices earlier, he can assume that there are people above him. Hopefully he'll get their attention. He shakes his feet to rattle the chain as loud as he can and watches the ceiling, trying to listen for any sign that he's been heard.

"What's that noise?" Luffy asks, suddenly stopping his running with the cat.

Sanji hears the footsteps stop above him and his heart races, praying it means someone heard him. He rattles his chain harder, making his calves burn at the awkward angle.

Luffy takes a uncertain step towards Zoro's bedroom, causing Zoro to rise slightly from his seat at the table with Nami. What does Luffy hear? Nami stops mid-sentence and silence falls over the house.

His eyes narrow, wondering if there's any chance Luffy could hear the man in the cellar. It's impossible, though. Zoro's checked several times before, making sure there's no way the sounds from below reach up to the main part of the house. And he can't hear anything himself. Knowing the positioning of his cellar, the man's bed should be right underneath the dining room table he's seated at.

Before he can stand up to investigate, Luffy's back from the bedroom with Zoro's vibrating phone in hand.

"It's Traffy," he announces, using his stupid nickname for Law. "I'm answering it."

"Hey! It's me!" Luffy greets, locating one of Oni's toys in the living room and dangling it over her.

Zoro watches as Luffy nods a couple times while listening to Law before making a peculiar face. "Well, he's right here."

Luffy hands him the phone and goes back to playing with Oni.

"What's up?" he asks, concerned with Luffy's reaction.

"Just got word from Mihawk. The jury found Crocodile not guilty. Let him go scot-free."

Zoro's face darkens with rage, not wanting to comprehend what he just heard.

"Two eye-witness testimonies," he growls, catching Nami's worried eye.

"I know," Law sighs, "Thought I'd let you know personally. We'll talk more tomorrow."

"Thanks." Zoro hangs up the phone and slams it on the table.

Down below, Sanji ceases his rattling, hearing the footsteps continue above him. It's no use. He tries bending his legs and pulling against the chains as hard as he can but they don't budge. His ankles are already sore and swollen from his attempts to get out of the chair. He can tell that this new apparatus will be even harder to slip out of. He wants to cry out in frustration, but the stupid fucking rag in his mouth keeps his screams to muffled whimpers.

Kicking the wall as hard as he can, the chains between his ankles pull taut, reminding him of just how restricted his limbs are. Fiddling with the cuffs behind him, he's disappointed to find that they're high-end and impenetrable. This guy's fucking good.

Zoro crosses his arms, staring at his phone angrily. Nami taps her nails on the surface of the table, obviously uncomfortable with the change in atmosphere.

"What happened?" she asks hesitantly. Luffy continues rattling Oni's toys.

"Bad guy got away," Zoro sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Nami nods understandingly, "You'll get the next one."

Zoro nods and gifts her with a small smile, wanting her to change the subject. She smiles back and returns to her earlier story. Her talking fades to the background as Zoro stares down the hall to his bedroom door. Sure, he'll get the next one but he'll get this one too, even if it means delivering his own sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always - thanks for the comments/reviews. Feedback is greatly appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

Sanji lies on the dirty mattress, stretching his legs out, trying to ignore the throbbing in his feet and ankles. They're bruised and swollen from his kicking and chain rattling. The most comfortable position he's found is sprawled out on his stomach since his hands are cuffed behind his back. He has no way of telling time but it feels like it's been several hours since his earlier attempts at catching anyone's attention. The footsteps above were pretty active until a little while ago. Now he just lays in silence, only the sounds of the building creaking and the grumbles of his stomach to keep him company.

Sighing, he closes his eyes and concentrates on anything except the gnawing in his gut. He was hungry when he'd left work that night, planning on making dinner when he got home. Obviously that never happened since he's been trapped in this basement. Experience has taught him fortitude with hunger but it's miserable all the same.

Sanji opens his eyes and tilts his head up. Scraping sounds are heard above, like a chair being pushed away from a table. Heavy footsteps follow, a lazy series of thumps, distinctly different from the earlier tapping. Before it sounded like someone who moved jovially, more like a prance. Whoever this is, they move with purpose. Most likely the Green Bastard.

Rolling onto his side, he manages to sit himself up, wanting to listen closer to the sounds above him. He watches the dark ceiling and follows the thuds of the steps, first fading away and then descending, like someone coming downstairs.

Eyes alert on the entryway, he prays that there's any chance of it being someone for rescue. Deep inside he knows the odds are slim but he still hopes, holding his breath, as the door swings open. Disappointed, he exhales – almost in a snort – as his captor walks into the room. He has a stack of blankets and a pillow tucked under arm. Oddly enough, he leaves the door open a crack, which is something Sanji hasn't noticed him do before.

The man sets his belongings down by the mattress. Sanji glimpses his face and immediately his stomach howls in protest, as he realizes that asshole has what appears to be a stick of pepperoni or sausage gripped between his teeth. If his mouth didn't have a rag shoved in it, he'd be drooling right now.

As his captor kneels  down, the spice of the pepperoni wafts stronger and causes his stomach to whine. If the other man noticed, there's no indication, as he reaches over and tugs the rag out of Sanji's mouth. This time the man is equipped for his coughs, water bottle in hand and ready to pour. Sanji slurps down the water greedily, more energized with each gulp. When he's finished, he nods his head and the bottle is removed and set down beside his bed.

"Thanks." He hates that he's thanking a man who has him tied up, but he doesn't want to seem ungracious. The guy doesn't have to bring him water or hell, didn't even have to untie him from that chair. Given the fact that he could be dead right now, he's truly grateful for what he has.

The man nods in response and stands to leave. Now completely capable of drooling, Sanji watches in agony as he finishes off his snack, oblivious to the fact that Sanji's stomach feels like it's eating his backbone.

"Hey," Sanji calls out, resolving to test his luck.

The man turns his head and looks in his direction.

"Hey, could I maybe have something to eat?" Sanji gulps, crossing his fingers behind him that this will work.

Without word, Green Bastard trudges out of the room but doesn't close the door. Sanji can hear his footsteps ascend to the main floor and tread across the building to an area that's close to above where he's sitting. A few minutes later the sounds of the man's return can be heard descending towards the door and he pops back into the cellar. Sanji spies a sandwich wrapped in a napkin in his hand.

Setting the meal on the floor next to the water bottle from earlier, his captor turns to walk away before Sanji halts him, "Wait! How am I supposed to eat this?"

The man twists back with a frown, before realizing what Sanji means. His hands are cuffed behind his back. There's no way he can feed himself. He'll either have to get a hand free or the Green Bastard will have to feed him. Judging the annoyance on his face, Sanji assumes he doesn't like that option either.

With an aggravated huff, the man returns to his workstation and starts searching through his drawers. Sanji's heart starts pounding as he hears the jingle of keys. This is the opportunity he's been waiting for. Once his handcuffs are off, if he acts quickly enough, he may have a chance at overpowering the guy.

Desperately, he searches the room while the man's back is turned. There's nothing within reach that could be used as a weapon. Now more than ever he wishes he were abducted while wearing shoes. Sanji settles on waiting for the perfect moment to kick the Green Bastard. He might even be able to use the chain to his advantage and try to position it around the man's throat. No matter what, he has to try.

The man is back by his bed, eyeing Sanji up and down, also studying the situation. He squats next to the mattress and delivers a mean glare, emanating an intense aura similar to when he almost killed Sanji.

"Legs straight out front."

Sanji balks, wondering what the plan could be. He needs his legs in order to pull off any escape attempt. His hesitation is noticed, his captor's frown deepening. Not wanting to risk him changing his mind, Sanji quickly complies.

With a sharp nod, Green Bastard kneels on the edge of the mattress and crawls over Sanji, firmly sitting on his legs, about halfway up his thighs.

"You motherfu-" Sanji bites his tongue. If he wants to make it out alive, he really needs to watch his mouth.

"Think I'd give you the chance to kick me?" the bastard snickers, apparently proud of his foresight. "Can tell your legs are strong."

Sanji's blood boils – sick and tired of taking this guy's shit. He has no idea who he is or why he's locked Sanji up other than the creep thinking he has something to do with some shitty crime he didn't commit. Now he's blocking any likely chance of Sanji getting away. Asshole.

Their bodies are close and Sanji can feel heat and power radiating off the other man. Knees still firmly planted on either side of his legs, he leans over, his chest pressing against Sanji's shoulder, and fumbles with the cuffs on his wrists. A few breaths and then one wrist is freed, the other one still cuffed and clenched tightly in the man's grip.

Immediately Sanji balls his free hand into a fist, putting as much power as he can muster into his punch. Before it connects to the side of the shitty bastard's green head, a tan hand halts his swing.

"Nice try," the man smirks before swiftly bringing both hands together and cuffing them with the ease and experience of a seasoned police officer.

"Fuck you," Sanji snarls, his frustration breaking the filter he's kept on his mouth.

The crack of skin echoes against the walls and rings in Sanji's ears. His cheek ignites on fire as the force of a hard smack jerks his head so vigorously he feels his neck will snap. He peeks under his bang at the man positioned in his lap, hand still raised and face hardened into a deep-set scowl.

Wordlessly, he removes himself from Sanji's legs and sits on the damp floor by the mattress, glaring at Sanji the whole time.

"Eat," he commands, picking up the sandwich and shoving it into Sanji's hands.

Sanji nods slowly and bites into his sandwich. Although his face stings and his jaw feels bruised, he quickly swallows his meal, unsure of when his next one will be. Washing his ham and cheese down with the last of the water bottle, he briefly makes eye contact with Green Bastard, who continues sitting at his bedside.

Curiosity getting to the best of him, Sanji tentatively asks, "Why are you still here?"

The man shrugs. "Figured you didn't look the type to piss yourself. Gonna take you to the shitter." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black switchblade. "Don't make me have to use this."

Sanji's jaw drops, the pain of the earlier smack seeming like a distant memory. He's lucky the psycho bastard didn't slit his throat.

The man stands and picks up the used napkin and empty water bottle, walking across the room and setting them on the workbench. He also closes the door and locks it from the inside, doing what he can to prevent Sanji's escape. After he flashed that switchblade, however, Sanji knows he's not reckless enough to try to pull something again. He needs more cunning next time; simply overpowering this guy is not possible.

The man returns and unlocks the part of the leg cuffs attached to the wall, keeping Sanji's feet securely fastened. Between his bindings and the stiffness of his body, Sanji's not sure he can stand up. Scooting to the side of the mattress, he plants his socked feet firmly to the ground and hoists himself up, standing completely for the first time since he's arrived in the basement. His knees buckle slightly but he steadies himself, the stretching helping his stiff legs. The man has a hold of the other end of his chain and nods towards an entryway on the other side of the room.

Sanji shuffles over slowly, taking small steps due to the restrictive chains at his feet. Poking his head into the doorway he was motioned to, he's shocked to find an old toilet and sink set up in a tiny closet-sized space. The plumbing looks antiquated, the toilet not even having a proper handle on it but one of those pull-chains instead. Bizarre.

"Get to it," Green Bastard orders, shouldering him into the bathroom.

Sanji stands in front of the toilet awkwardly, unsure of how he's going to manage unbuttoning his pants and pissing, especially with an audience.

"Fuck it," he mutters, figuring he needs to try to go now before he ends up having to actually wet himself later. He's relieved to see the Green Bastard turn his back and give him a little privacy. With some fumbling, he manages to undo his pants and complete his business.

Within minutes, his pants are zipped, hands washed, and he's back to the mattress with the chain reattached to the wall. The man nods at the pillow and blankets on the ground before he takes his exit, turning off the light on the way out, leaving Sanji to lie in the dark.

 

 

* * *

"Where the dickens did you come from?!"

Zoro sighs and looks up from his newspaper. Mihawk stands in the break room doorway, coffee mug in hand and scowling. His glare is directed at Zoro's hair, which is a bit more disheveled than normal. Piercing eyes lower and narrow at the sight of a wrinkled shirt. Zoro knew he'd get shit for it but expected to at least be able to eat his breakfast in peace.

It was a rough morning, his typical routine thrown off by the fact that he had to take time to check on Sanji. This whole thing is becoming one giant pain in his ass.

"Was running late." Zoro returns to his newspaper and takes another bite of his banana ignoring Mihawk's continued scoffing.

"Yet you have time to sit around like a bored gorilla," Mihawk deadpans and crosses the room to fill up his coffee mug.

"Law ain't here yet," Zoro responds, hoping talking with his mouth full will make the bastard leave.

Seems to do the trick, as Mihawk turns on his heel and heads out the door, polished shoes click-clacking on the linoleum as he goes. Smug with himself, Zoro finishes off his banana and tosses the peel in the trash as he turns the page.

"Watch it!"

Usopp enters the room, barely managing to duck underneath Zoro's trash, juggling a pink box in his hands. Thrusting the box in Zoro's direction, he opens the lid to reveal two lines of sugary, glazed doughnuts.

"Too sweet," Zoro scrunches his nose as he pushes the box away, declining the offer. Usopp shrugs and closes the lid, setting the box down on the break room table.

"Heard about that case," he tries to say casually but curiosity is written all over his face, "You and Law worked hard on it."

"Don't know the details yet, Usopp. Waiting for Law."

As if summoned, Law floats into the room, red thermos in hand. All the free coffee in the world stuffed into the cabinets of the dinky break room and he brings his own from home every day.

"Mornin' Law! Want a doughnut?" Usopp excitedly opens his box and sticks it in Law's face, causing him to wince.

"No thanks, too sweet."

"You two spend too much time together," Usopp mutters before closing the lid to his box and waving goodbye.

Zoro tips his water bottle as farewell before taking a swig, calm settling in the room with Usopp's departure. Law continues his morning routine, dumping creamer into his thermos. Brings his own coffee, uses office creamer. They all stopped trying to figure him out a long time ago.

Done at the coffee station, Law turns to him and nods at the door. "Shall we?"

Zoro stands, folding his newspaper and leaving it on the table for someone else to read. They walk down the hall in silence, the shuffle and buzz of office work all around, phones ringing, group debriefings. The building houses several law enforcement teams, their floor in particular belonging to the Homicide Division. Mihawk is Sergeant to all of them but seems to take a special liking to him and Law. They can never tell if that's good or bad.

Turning into their small office, Zoro shuts the door and leans against it. Law sits on his desk, examining the tattoos on his hands.

"How?" Zoro asks.

"Don't know."

"Two eye-witnesses."

"He has money."

"Motherfucker," Zoro shoves off the door and walks to the middle of the small room, rubbing his temple, "Think he'll skip town?"

"No doubt, they always do." Law laughs bitterly, taking a sip of his coffee. "Two counts murder, one count rape."

"Not guilty on all three."

Zoro kicks the side of his desk, aggravation swelling from deep inside him. Sick fucks that can pay their ways out of convictions disgust him more than any of the others. Old money is dangerous and plentiful in their northern city. Bored rich kids growing into twisted adults, falling back on their fortune when they get caught being the depraved sons of bitches they are. This is exactly why he does what he does. Someone has to take out the trash when the system is so corrupt.

"Takes some balls to hand out a 'not guilty' when a victim testifies," Law muses, tattooed hands wrapped around his thermos. Zoro glances at his knuckles reading DEATH in bold, black lettering. He smirks knowing that's exactly the fate Crocodile will meet once Zoro gets his own hands on him.

"Got dinner plans?"

Zoro cocks an eyebrow at the sudden change of topic and sits on the edge of his desk, shaking his head.

"Luffy wants you to come out with us. I believe Nami and Usopp will also be there."

Zoro crosses his arms, staring at the carpet in front of him. He has shit to do - the Crocodile case, the blond in the basement…

"He told me to tell you he's 'cashing in.'"

Shit. That stupid fucking bet. Luffy has a tendency to gamble on stupid shit, like "I bet you can't chug a beer in under 30 seconds" or "I bet Usopp won't notice me put ice down his shirt." It's so ridiculous that no one can help getting sucked in. It's never for real money, usually small favors. Or bites of food. Zoro owes him a loss for betting that Chopper couldn't shotgun a beer. Little guy shocked them all. Luffy said he was going to wait for the "right moment" to use it.

Door bursting open, their conversation is interrupted, Mihawk appearing on the other side. Glancing between the two of them seated on top of their desks, he places his hands on his hips, his face dark but deadly calm.

"Well, men, are we having a picnic?"

They make eye contact before shaking their heads.

"Then get to work."

 

* * *

 

 

He needs a fucking cigarette.

Sanji continues prodding at his bindings, trying to find any way of getting them loose. He's been at it for hours, ever since Green Bastard left. He's pretty sure he's in a cellar under the guy's house; it's the only thing that makes sense given how often he seems to be around.

Frustrated, he drops the chain and runs his hands through his hair, tugging at blond strands. Nicotine withdrawal is a son of a bitch under normal circumstances but the extra stress of being kidnapped, almost murdered, and chained up has him especially on edge. Just one fucking cigarette. Maybe he can get Green Bastard to give him a pack of smokes…

Sanji laughs bitterly at the thought. No fucking way.

He stands up on the grimy mattress and attempts to shake the dust off. He'd managed to make a nest out of the blankets but still feels dirty as hell, two days in this disgusting place with no shower. Shuffling off the side of the mattress, he hops to the floor, the cement feeling cold under his socked feet. He may not be able to go very far or move his legs well but it's still nice to stand.

At least his hands are still cuffed in front of him and he doesn't have that damn rag in his mouth today.

Staring at the metal chair in the middle of the room, Sanji lets his mind wander back to the same question he's mulled over ever since that knife was removed from his neck and his life was spared.

Why?

It was obvious that the man's every intention was to kill him that night, so why didn't he follow through? What made him stop? Why did he remove Sanji from that chair? Go through the trouble of installing the chain in the wall and bringing down that mattress? Feeding him, giving him water, pillow and blankets.

A sick sense of understanding twists deep inside, threatening to bubble up every time he ponders why the Green Bastard has him bound to a bed. The way he's always staring at Sanji, expressionless and calm, it makes chills run up his spine. His memory fades to the moment his captor was seated upon him, how easily he overpowered Sanji. It would be impossible to fight if he…

Sanji turns his back on the chair and shuffles to his bed, squatting down and sitting on the side of the mattress. Knees curled, he tucks his cuffed hands into his lap and stares down at the chains attached to his legs, concentrating once again on his escape plan.

 

* * *

 

 

Zoro spots Law's black Buick as he walks across a familiar parking lot towards the restaurant. He had time to kill after work, opting not to drive all the way home just to turn around and come back to the city, so he went to the gym and lost track of time. Hair still damp from his post-workout shower and dressed in a spare outfit he had in his gym bag, he's glad they chose somewhere casual.

Opening the wooden door to the restaurant, he's greeted by the gaudy nautical theme and a bustling sea of people, swamped with the dinner rush. Searching the crowd, he spots Nami's red hair and heads in that direction, his pace slowing as he walks closer and catches a glimpse who's at the table.

Seated in a round booth are Nami and Usopp on one side, Law and Luffy in the middle, and a strange looking man with surprisingly green hair across from Nami. Zoro had never seen him before in his life but based on seating arrangements and Usopp's arm wrapped around Nami's shoulder, he can tell this is something other than just a casual friend outing. Luffy's eyes land on him and his face lights up in a grin, making a pointing motion to the random stranger sitting at the table and it hits him full force: this is some kind of set up.

A goddamn blind date.

Annoyed that he'd been duped, Zoro briefly considers turning around and just leaving, but Luffy is waving at him wildly and causing a scene so it's best to stay. Plus he owes Luffy. Glancing at the bottles of liquor lining the expansive bar, Zoro sighs and makes his way to the table, Luffy practically bouncing out of his seat by the time he arrives.

"Hey! Hey! This is Barto," Luffy whoops as soon as Zoro's within reasonable distance, "Barto, this is Zoro."

Barto stretches out a hand, his face spreading into a wide smile. Zoro notices a gold piercing hanging out of his septum and feathers lining the hood of his jacket. This guy's a piece of work, between the jewelry, the checkered pants, and the green mohawk. Maybe it's a misunderstanding and he's just a new friend of Luffy's. Zoro grasps the man's waiting hand and gives it a firm shake. However, Barto's hand lingers on Zoro's when they make eye contact and he gives Zoro a cheeky grin, one that confirms that this is definitely some kind of date.

Zoro pulls his hand away and immediately walks to Nami's side of the table, bending down and whispering threateningly to Usopp, "Move over or else."

"What?! N-no way, man," Usopp responds, standing his ground even though his voice is trembling.

Nami overhears this exchange and delivers Zoro a glare, leaning over the dark-haired man and scolding, "Go sit by Barto."

Zoro shoots her his dirtiest look but it doesn't work, her stubbornness matching his own. Barto and Luffy are oblivious to this exchange, having picked back up their prior conversation. Usopp looks back and forth between his girlfriend and Zoro, crumbling under the tension between their stare.

Finally, Nami rolls her eyes, "Look – it was Luffy's idea. I'll buy you a drink."

Zoro picks up Usopp's almost full beer and chugs it, earning an appalled squawk from Usopp and an amused chuckle from Law. Zoro sets the empty mug on the table and points his finger menacingly at Nami, "That's the drink Usopp owes me. Now you owe me a whiskey."

"Fine, just go sit down already, asshole."

Zoro complies, returning to his side of the table and sliding into the booth next to Barto, looking around the room for a server. A young girl seems to spot him searching because she smiles at him and nods, indicating she'll be by in a minute.

"So Luffy says you're a cop?" Barto asks politely, irking Zoro even further. He hates small talk, especially small talk where he has to talk about himself. That waitress better hurry over.

"Detective," he corrects as he opens the drink menu, locating the most expensive whiskey on the list.

"Yeah, he's Law's partner," Luffy chimes in. He opens his mouth to say more but is interrupted by the waitress appearing at their table with a tray of steamed oysters.

"Sorry it took so long," she apologizes as she sets the food down, "Our head chef is missing so the kitchen is a little behind."

"Missing?" Law asks, leaning forward and going full detective-mode.

"Oh no, I don't mean anything serious," she laughs, pulling out a pad of paper from her apron, "He's just been away for a couple days. Things get a bit crazy without him."

Law nods and leans back in his seat as the waitress asks Usopp if he needs another beer.

"What'll it be for you?" she turns to ask Zoro.

"Johnnie Walker. Neat. And a Sam Adams."

"Any food?"

"Fish and chips."

She scribbles on her pad. "Got it. I'll have your drinks out in a minute."

As soon as the waitress is out of earshot, Nami reaches across the table and snatches the drink menu, flying through the pages to locate the price of Zoro's drink. Her eyes widen once she finds it, "Seriously, Zoro?"

"Sucks that the chef isn't here. Been wanting to try this place for awhile," Usopp complains while digging an oyster out of its shell.

"Oysters are fresh," Law quips, sucking one right out of the husk. To his right, Luffy stuffs his face with oyster after oyster, melted butter dribbling on his chin.

"This place is great," Barto turns to Zoro, "Ever been here before?"

"Once," Zoro responds, reaching over and grabbing some shellfish for himself, "For lunch."

Their server returns with drinks, Zoro slamming back his whiskey immediately. Pointing at the beer, he makes sure she knows to keep the booze flowing.

"How do you and Luffy know each other?" Barto inquires innocently.

The mix of beer and liquor warming him up, Zoro decides to try to be a little friendlier. It's not the guy's fault that his friends are a bunch of morons. "Arrested him back when I was on the streets. Was shocked when I found out that little hoodlum was the Deputy Chief's grandson."

Luffy laughs proudly at Zoro's recollection. For some strange reason, Barto seems awestruck. Maybe he has a thing for cops?

"What did you arrest him for?" he questions further.

"Destruction of city property. Threw a damn rock and took out my cruiser tail light."

The whole table laughs, peculiarly Barto and Luffy laughing the loudest. Barto places a hand on Luffy's arm, "You're such a cool dude."

Zoro raises his eyebrows at this, looking at the rest of the table. Everyone else seems to have caught it too, except Luffy, who continues laughing along with Barto. Law's steely gaze darts from his cell phone and locks on the man's hand, still resting on Luffy's arm.

Finishing off his beer, Zoro is pleased to see the waitress delivering another round of drinks to the table, assuring them that their mains will be out shortly.

Stirring her drink with her fingertip, Nami coughs lightly and tries to change the subject, "So what do you do, Barto?"

He removes his hand finally and takes a sip of his drink, some piss yellow light beer. Lightweight. "I'm between jobs at the moment."

"Just like Luffy!" Usopp takes a cheap jab, giggling into his beer.

"Damn man… shut up." Luffy frowns.

This was the wrong move on Usopp's part because Barto throws an arm around Luffy's shoulders, comforting him with a laugh, "It's okay, we can be bums together!"

Law throws back his drink, slamming his empty glass on the table. Zoro can tell as well as anyone else that Barto's behavior is striking a chord. If he gets liquored up enough, he'll probably tell the guy off.

"Hey, want another drink?" Zoro offers with a devilish grin.

"Jack and Coke Zero," Law answers, Luffy completely oblivious to his misery. Probably 'cause he's always such a miserable bastard.

Then it hits Zoro.  "Jack and Coke Zero?"

Law gives him the finger as Zoro stands from the booth, shaking his head. Making his way across the crowded restaurant, he reaches the bar and finds a place to sit and flag down the bartender. A middle-aged man approaches him, his bald head shining in the soft light of the restaurant.

"Double shot of Jack for me. Jack and Coke Zero for my buddy," Zoro orders. With luck, the bartender pulls out the glasses right in front of him, making it easy to start up a conversation. "Packed in here. My waitress said your head chef split, guess its not hurting business too much?"

The bartender shakes his head, sliding the shot into Zoro's hand. "Nah, business is as good as ever. The kid's been gone for a couple days; they said he took a vacation. Old man Zeff, the original owner, died a few months back. Chef's been taking it hard."

The great thing about local businesses is they don't have the same filter as huge corporations do. They're more personable, more forthcoming with information. Zoro's used it to his advantage quite a few times, both professionally and with his side work.

"That's a relief. Our waitress made it sound like he was seriously missing."

The bartender rolls his eyes as he sets down the other drink, leaning against the bar with a hand on his hip, "These girls just like the drama. Patty and Carne stopped by the boss' place and he wasn't there, bag packed and gone. Bus schedule printed out on the counter, they said. Kid just needed a break, clear his head or something."

Zoro smiles, finishing his drink and picking up Law's abomination, "Thanks for the drinks and conversation. Put 'em on my tab."

The bartender nods and picks up the ten  left on the counter for him, moving onto the next guest as Zoro turns to leave.

Back at the table, Zoro's amused to see that the state of things hasn't much changed. Barto and Luffy are loudly chattering, Law's glaring at Barto murderously, Nami and Usopp trying to distract him with conversation. Zoro takes a seat back in his spot and slides the drink over to Law, happy to see the waitress brought him another beer while he was gone.

Law gulps down half the drink and turns to Zoro, intentionally ignoring the two next to him. "Mihawk said we have a debriefing tomorrow with some of the higher ups."

Zoro takes a swig of his beer and belches in response.

Liquor hitting Law pretty hard, he actually smirks before fixing his face back into a disgusted frown.

"Nice one!" Luffy cheers, clapping and egging Zoro on.

Barto grabs his own beer, which looks lukewarm and therefore even more like piss water than before, and chugs it down, causing himself to belch as well. Law shoots him a sour look, Barto's thinly veiled attempt at impressing Luffy quickly uncovered.

"We are not starting this game," Nami chides, side-eyeing Usopp as he slurps down his own drink. His gulping slows and he quietly burps into his hand.

"We should hang out more often, this is really fun," Barto says directly to Luffy. He hasn't said much to the rest of them, so there's no way he means the entire group.

Luffy nods, "That'd be awesome! You're a cool dude."

A blush tinges the man's cheeks, mistaking Luffy's friendliness for a compliment. Dense as ever, Luffy doesn't seem to realize that he's leading Barto to a very different assumption.

Zoro notices Law's glass is empty and the liquor's taken its effect. His normally pale cheeks are flushed and his usual grim scowl is deeper and more menacing than usual. Law taps Luffy on the shoulder, causing him to turn to turn his head.  He seizes Luffy’s face, locking their lips locking in a searing kiss. Nami facepalms, Usopp snickers, and Zoro swallows the rest of his drink with a smirk.

The color drains from Barto's face – unsure of how to react, he just watches as Luffy returns Law's kiss before pulling away, grin splattered across his face.

"Excuse me," Barto mutters, scooting over and motioning for Zoro to stand up so he can make his leave from the table. As Zoro sits back down, he locks eyes with Usopp and the two of them can't help but chuckle.

Just as quickly as he left, Barto returns babbling about having missed an important call and needing to leave. He throws a twenty on the table, waves goodbye to them all, and disappears into the crowd.

"What the fuck, Luffy?" Zoro growls immediately after his departure, motioning to the spot the man just stood in.

"You both have green hair, thought you'd get along."

"For fuck's sake."

"I don't think Zoro was the one he was interested in," Usopp chortles.

"Yeah, he was kinda weird," Luffy admits, rubbing the back of his neck. He turns to Law, who is grinning, absolutely pleased with him. "Sorry, Traffy."

"I need another Jack and Coke Zero."

They laugh and drink through the night, the awkwardness lifted with Barto gone. Food's devoured pretty quickly after it arrives and they stay a good bit after they've cleared their plates. By the time their tabs are paid and they're standing out front of the restaurant, under the big blue 'Baratie' sign, Zoro realizes he's way too drunk to drive home.

Staggering slightly, he looks at his keys in his hand and mutters, "Fuck."

Usopp plucks the keys out of his hold and swings them around his index finger, "Nami and I stopped drinking when we got our food. I'll drive you home."

"What 'bout you?" Zoro asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"Nami's going to drive Law's car to his place. We parked there and rode with him so she can come pick me up after."

Zoro agrees and the group says goodbye, splitting towards their separate vehicles. Law's leaned over Luffy's shoulder, gripping his stomach and whining about needing to puke. Sure enough, he starts retching into the bushes as Zoro climbs into the passenger seat of his SUV.

Zoro reaches into the backseat and tugs out his gym bag as Usopp starts up the car. Digging through his bag, he finds what he's looking for: a small bottle of Jim Beam.

Usopp glances over as he backs out of the parking space, shaking his head, "You're such an alcoholic."

Zoro opens the bottle and takes a swig, causing Usopp to swerve slightly trying to reach over and shove the bottle out of sight. "You're a fucking cop! You're breaking the open container law!"

"Hate to tell you this but that's not the only law I break," Zoro snickers.

Usopp glances over at him expectantly, worry painted across his face.

"Sometimes I jaywalk."

Usopp punches him in the shoulder, chuckling at his wisecrack, "You're such a dick."

They spend the rest of their ride mostly in silence, periodically cracking jokes at Barto's or Law's expense. By the time Usopp pulls into Zoro's driveway, the bottle of Jim Beam is empty and he's completely toasted.

"Nice night, mind waiting outside?" Zoro asks as they climb out of his car. Usopp tosses him the keys, Zoro pocketing them.

"Sounds good to me.You know I'm allergic to cats."

Zoro nods and opens the hatchback of his car. The two of them sit on the bumper, legs dangling and stare into the dark waiting for Nami.

"That guy was a weirdo but Luffy had good intentions," Usopp starts but Zoro waves a hand, motioning that continuing isn't necessary.

"Y'all worry too much," Zoro slurs, gazing up at the starry night sky. Best thing about living away from the city is being able to see the stars. Reminds him of home.

"'Must be drunk, the Mississippi is coming out of you," Usopp teases, earning him a soft punch to the shoulder.

"Shut up, ya damn Yankee."

Usopp's cell phone rings, interrupting their laughter. Zoro continues to stare at the night sky, the booze causing his mind to spin. It's rare that he gets completely loaded but when he does, he finds he's mostly content. Drunk and happy.

"Nami's almost here."

Sure enough, ten minutes or so later, headlights turn into Zoro's driveway, temporarily blinding the two of them, as the car gets closer. Nami dims the lights as she parks and leans out the window, waving at Usopp.

He hops off the back of the SUV and climbs into the passenger seat of Nami's sedan, yelling goodbye to Zoro.

Zoro waves back at them and watches the small vehicle reverse out of his driveway and head back towards the city.

Standing, Zoro digs into the pocket of his jeans and locates his keys. Closing the hatchback, he presses the lock button, causing the headlights to flash and the horn to beep. Walking to his front door, he sways as he goes, drunker than he expected to be.

Unlocking the door, he swings it open and tosses his keys on the entryway table. Door closed again, he locks up for the night before turning on the light. Oni looks up from her spot on the back of the couch and yawns, welcoming him home.

Wandering into the kitchen, he opens the fridge and grabs a beer. Doesn't really need one but why not, just a couple more before bed. Twisting off the cap he takes a swig and opens his cabinets. They're mostly barren; he needs to go shopping soon. Grabbing a bag of potato chips for Sanji, he spots his bag of pepperoni sticks and grabs that too.

Deciding to open the fridge once again, he pulls out a bottle of water and a second beer for the road. Everything in the kitchen closed back up, he turns off the light and walks down the dark hallway to his bedroom.

Sanji can tell by the heavy footsteps above that the Green Bastard is finally home. Even without access to a clock, he knows the man's been gone for a long time. His hunger and his thirst are indicative of that. Sitting with his back against the wall he waits and listens to the telling noises of his captor paying him a visit.

Within minutes the door is swung open and the man enters the room, food and drinks tucked under arm and a brown beer bottle in hand. His presence is different, more relaxed. Sanji watches him dump his load onto the counter of the workbench and take a long pull of his beer before setting it down as well.

Green Bastard closes the door and locks it from the inside, tugging on it to make sure it doesn't budge. Pocketing his keys, he makes his way over to Sanji's bed, sly grin playing on his lips.

Crouching down in front of Sanji, he leans over and pulling on Sanji's chains, first checking the ones on his feet and then the cuffs around his wrists. Grabbing Sanji's ankle and keeping a firm grip, Green Bastards leans in closer. Sanji presses his back harder against the wall, smelling beer and liquor on the man's breath. Fuck, this has to be it. Figures he'd come do it while drunk. The hand around his ankle squeezes tighter, the man reaching his other hand towards Sanji. Heart pounding, Sanji's close to panicking, his legs twitching to kick at the bastard but the force of the man's hand keeping him from doing so.

Wordlessly, Green Bastard reaches past him and pulls on the post chaining Sanji to the wall, testing its security. Satisfied with the results, he leans back and releases Sanji's leg before standing up and returning to his beer.

Sanji swallows hard, body rigid from the Green Bastard being so close in his space. He felt the fucker's sour breath on his skin. Suddenly, a bag of chips lands on the bed next to him soon followed by a bottle of water. He looks up and the bastard's pulled out his stool setting it a couple feet from Sanji, using the arm of the metal chair as a mini-table for his beer.

Green Bastard munches on pepperoni sticks as Sanji picks up his chips. Sanji frowns at the label, they just happen to be his least favorite flavor.

"Don't like barbeque?" the man asks from his seat.

"Not particularly," the cook answers as he opens the bag, nibbling on a couple chips.

Thinking as he chews, Sanji begins solidifying his plan. The man is obviously drunk, words slurring ever so slightly. He reeks of booze. He's acting friendlier than usual. Sanji can use all of this to his advantage.

Finishing off his food, Sanji nods to himself, his plan cemented. Turning to the man, he takes a deep breath and asks, "Why are you doing this to me?"

The man tosses his bag into the seat of the metal chair and wipes his hands on his knees. He stands from his stool and guzzles down the rest of his beer, emptying the bottle completely. Forcefully, he slams the bottle against the side of the chair, smashing the bottom off and leaving jagged pieces of glass scattered on the floor. It's the kind of reaction Sanji was hoping for.

Instantly, the Green Bastard is looming over him, weapon in hand. Seizing Sanji by the collar of his shirt, he tugs him up vigorously, slamming him against the wall. Sanji stays silent, body limp, allowing himself to be manhandled by the dumb brute.

"A murderer like you," the man hisses, jaw clenched, "has no right to question my intentions."

The man's left hand holds the broken beer bottle, his right clenching Sanji's shirt collar and pinning him to the wall, leaving Sanji's legs free. Using the man's grip to his advantage, Sanji jumps and knees the Green Bastard in the stomach.

The man lets go of his shirt, doubling over from the hit he took to the gut. Sanji takes the opportunity to lunge for the broken bottle in the motherfucker's hand. It's a risk but the alcohol should have dulled his reflexes. The Green Bastard shocks him by reacting quickly, tossing the bottle across the room and out of reach. Asshole's more alert than he seems.

A hard punch darts out towards Sanji's side but he manages to dodge it miraculously, the chains at his feet keeping him from being too quick. Sanji grabs the man's head before he can stand back up fully and knees him sharply in the face. He feels the bastard's nose crack with the force and hopes this is the advantage he needs to take the man out completely.

Zoro sees red, his nose breaking from Sanji's attack. Enraged, he lashes out, delivering a hard punch to Sanji's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Sanji lets go of his head and Zoro stands, blood pouring down his face and onto his shirt. Trying to escape his next hit, Sanji manages to catch his feet in his chains and he's down, falling back onto the mattress

Zoro's immediately on top of him, breathing heavy through his mouth, blood spurting from his face onto Sanji's clothes. Hands grip Sanji's neck and he's choking him, trying to squeeze the last bit of life out of him. Sanji kicks and writhes underneath him, reaching up and hitting Zoro again in his broken nose, trying to distract him with pain. Zoro can't feel the pain, though. Can't feel anything other than pure rage. He has to kill this bastard and he has to kill him now.

The sound of screaming fills his ears as he continues strangling Sanji. He deserves it, Zoro keeps telling himself. He has to pay for what he did. This is the only way that girl will get justice. The only way Zoro can keep the streets safe. As if his hands belong to someone else, he feels his grip weaken around Sanji's throat, giving him a moment to gasp for air.

No matter how badly Zoro wants to kill him, every muscle in his body is telling him not to. He tightens his grip around Sanji's throat again, resolving to ignore his instincts, but finds himself unable to follow through. Releasing his hold once more, Zoro sits up, still straddling Sanji's body, and glares down at the man. He can't fucking do it.

Sanji gasps for air, reaching up to rub his throat. Their chests heave in unison, Zoro's face covered in blood and Sanji's splattered with it as well. The tension in the room fades away and Zoro starts to feel the throbbing pain of his broken nose. As his pulse calms, he recognizes the screaming he heard earlier was really the harsh shrill of his cell phone ringer.

Zoro pulls the phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen, realizing he has to take this call. Unsure of what else to do, he grabs one of the blankets and stuffs it in Sanji's mouth as a makeshift gag. Taking hold of Sanji's handcuffs, he makes sure there's no way he can pull the gag out and yell.

Tapping the button to answer the phone, Zoro almost jumps as he hears Mihawk's nasally voice fill the room and echo off of the walls.

"Roronoa."

Zoro fumbles to tap the button to take the phone off speaker but his drunkenness makes his usual incompetence with technology even worse, Mihawk's words continue to boom.

"Make sure you look halfway decent tomorrow. We have a debriefing."

"Got it," Zoro responds, finally getting the phone off of speaker. Too late, though. Mihawk's already hung up.

Zoro slides the phone across the cellar floor towards the door, way out of Sanji's reach. Keeping his hold on the handcuffs, he stands up slowly, careful not to bend his face too far forward and cause it to bleed more. Once he's off of the man, he lets go of the cuffs, Sanji's hands flying up to pull the blanket out of his mouth.

Zoro glances around the room, glass littering the floor from the smashed bottle. Fuck. He better clean this up, just in case. Silently, he locates a small broom in one of his cabinets and cleans the glass up off the floor, nose trickling blood from his bending over.

Sanji stares at the ceiling as the Green Bastard moves around the room, cleaning up the mess from their altercation. Sanji can feel the man's blood drying on his face but he doesn't care at this moment. His neck is sore and throat feels like it’s on fire from the stronghold Green Bastard had on it. This was his only chance at escape and he failed; his captor won't let his guard down ever again. It's over. He's done.

Without looking up, he hears the man gathering his stuff and exiting the room, door slamming and locking behind him. Sanji rolls onto his side, staring out at the dark space. Clearing his throat, he needs to test his vocal cords to make sure everything's still in working order.

Voice a raspy whisper, he says the only word that comes to mind, testing the name on his tongue, "Roronoa."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Modern AU headcanons are literally my favorite thing to talk about. I'm trying to wrap as many of mine into this fic. As always, thanks for the comments/reviews and also for the kudos!! Very motivating!


	4. Chapter 4

Clutching the sides of the sink, Zoro stares at himself in the mirror, knuckles white from the grip. Both eyes are already bruising, nose swollen. Dried blood cakes his neck and shirt, scabs already forming in his nostrils to stop the bleeding. That's the thing about broken noses – they bleed a shitload, worse than any other injury he's ever had. This one isn't his first and probably won't be his last.

He bends his head forward, closing his eyes, and tries to keep his breathing even. Fucked up. He fucked up again, keeps fucking up with that stupid piece of shit. Even in his drunkenness, he should have had the foresight to see what the little fucker was up to. He won't make that mistake again.

Unclenching his hold, he looks up and sighs heavily. His nose is healing crooked, needs to be reset.

Pulling aside the tan shower curtain, Zoro turns the faucet to let the water warm up. Undressing, he has slight trouble tugging off his t-shirt, the tacky blood making the collar stick to his skin. Completely disrobed, he absent-mindedly scratches his chest, fingers prodding the scar that runs across it. His body is littered with scars, his eye being his most noticeable but the chest is most prominent. Indenting his skin deeply, doctor's told him it won't fade, a constant reminder to him. Room turning steamy, he steps into the shower, searing water hitting his shoulders.

No point in washing off the blood until he gets his nose reset. Facing forward, he firms himself, making sure his stance is stable, just in case he blacks out. Creating a triangle with his fingers, he places his hands on either side of his nose and takes a deep breath. Jerking his hands forward and up, he can feel the crunching underneath his fingertips. Hot, white pain electrocutes through his eyes and surges down to his toes. Luckily, he stays conscious and once the pain subsides to an ache, he turns to face the water sprinkling from the showerhead. Blood streaming from his nose, he works on rinsing it away, scrubbing at the dried, sticky bits.

Zoro showers quickly, needing to tape his nose before it goes crooked again. Turning off the water, he pulls back the curtain and steps out, sopping wet. Can't waste time drying. Patting his face gently with his towel, he wipes away the last trickles of blood. Tape already set out on the counter, he tears off a piece, using his free hand to move his nose to the right position. Fitting it correctly, he tapes it off and starts drying the rest of his body. Finished, he throws his towel on the puddle of water his dripping created.

Not bothering to get dressed, Zoro turns off all the lights and climbs into bed, face throbbing and swelling. Cheap hit. Staring at the dark ceiling, he mentally re-watches the reel tape of that night so long ago, reminding himself exactly why all of this is worth it. Why he can't stop what he does, no matter what. With hardened resolve, he allows himself to sleep, the unspoken promise resting on his lips.

 

* * *

 

 

Darkness.

It surrounds him. Pitch black. Whether his eyes are opened or closed, it doesn't matter. No windows, no glow under the door, nothing. Why doesn't that bastard just leave the light on?

Running his tongue along his teeth, Sanji frowns, disgusted. Been days since he brushed them. Tongue isn't much better, either. Feels fuzzy, the taste of junk food and barbeque chips still resting on it from nights before.

Turning his head he winces, his neck sore from the night before. Even though he can't see himself, he's certain there are bruises speckling his skin. Most likely in the shape of two large hands. Anger, disappointment, defeat. He doesn't know what the fuck to feel anymore. He's just surviving, that's all he can focus on right now.

Reaching up with shackled hands, he scratches his hair, scalp itchy from dirt and grime. Rubbing his face, he feels the dried blood that splattered onto him from Green Bastard's nose. Given the amount of blood and the crack he heard, he definitely broke it. A small smile plays at his lips; at least he has one victory to be proud of.

Roronoa.

Sanji mouths it again, trying to taste each syllable. Thinks how to spell it, picturing the letters forming in front of his face. Writing's now a luxury, so he has to settle with imagining it. Weird name. Never heard it before, no idea what origin it could have. But it's forever ingrained in his head, etched directly on his brain. That motherfucker's name is Roronoa.

Coughing, he clenches his stomach, tender in the area he got punched. Bastard's got a mean hit. He anticipated taking a hard blow or two. That was part of the plan. Didn't expect to almost get choked to death but c'est la vie.

Footsteps thud above. Must be morning. More than anything, except maybe a hot shower, he wishes he had a clock. Some way to track the time he wastes lying on this crummy mattress. Could be doing a thousand things right now but he's stuck down here, wondering when his purpose will be served.

Mind wandering back to the restaurant, he worries about Zeff's place. Old man left Sanji in charge - Patty and Carne don't know what the hell they're doing. They might know what the place meant to Zeff but they don't know how to run it correctly. Are they looking for him? Are they concerned?

The Roronoa guy seems like an awful murderer, he hasn't succeeded at a single attempt at taking Sanji's life. Here's to the small chance he fucked up in some other way and Sanji will be found. It's his only hope; he can't conceivably power himself out of this.

Swing. Tap, tap, tap. The "descent" begins; that's what Sanji calls this series of noises. Pretty soon the door will unlock and push open. Moments later, as predicted, the bastard turns the lights on, relieving Sanji of his entrapment in the dark.

Not bothering to even look up, Sanji continues staring at the grey wall. Grey, black, doesn't matter. It's all the same. By now, he has every nook and cranny of this goddamn cellar memorized.

Feeling something plop onto the foot of his mattress, Sanji turns his head slightly towards his feet, curiosity getting to the best of him. A banana and a container of yogurt. Finally, authentic food.

Sitting up, he scoots to the edge of the bed and grabs his meal, happy to have real nutrients. It's Greek yogurt too, which means he gets some protein. Pulling off the top to his yogurt, he spots a plastic spoon that was dropped with the food and digs in. After last night's sad excuse for dinner, it feels like heaven on his tongue.

Green Bastard – Roronoa – stands at the workbench shuffling through papers, back turned to Sanji. Sanji savors his yogurt, noticing the man is dressed nicer than he's seen him before, charcoal dress pants and a white and grey pinstripe shirt. Sanji looks down at his own dirty pants, tinge of jealousy that the bastard gets to wear clean clothes.

Any inklings of jealousy are quickly dismissed when the man turns around sporting two black eyes and a swollen nose. Sanji wants to laugh but knows that would be a death sentence, settling with concentrating on his banana. Still, the corners of his mouth turn up in triumph. He may be stuck down here but that broken nose is evidence of his rebellion, evidence the world will have to see.

Seeming annoyed, Roronoa grabs a plastic grocery sack he has waiting on the counter before walking closer to Sanji, bag outreached.

"Trash.”

Sanji tosses his banana peel, empty yogurt container, and plastic spoon into the bag. Locating the empty chip bag and water bottle from the night before, he tosses those in too. Green Bastard's eyes are on his neck, studying him. Must be true about the bruising. Moving to the edge of the mattress, he assumes it's time for the next part of their morning routine: the bathroom. Surprisingly, the man tosses the bag of trash aside and walks over to the hose on the wall, pulling a rag out of his pocket and wetting it.

Returning, he crouches in front of Sanji, wet cloth in hand. Sanji's unsure how to react, suspicious of the man's intentions. Swiftly, Green Bastard gives Sanji's face a good wipe, trying to remove as much dirt, blood, and grime as possible. His motions are rough, scratching hard on his skin. Cold, businesslike. But still, Sanji's glad to have the mess cleaned up.

Twenty minutes later, Sanji's full morning routine is completed and he's back in his bunk, lying down, facing the wall again. No words spoken between the two, the Green Bastard leaves him alone to go do whatever the hell he does all day. His skin tingles, still able to feel the force of the man's hand wiping his face.

 

* * *

 

 

Zoro grimaces at his reflection in his rearview mirror. The swelling went down enough to remove the tape but he has two black eyes. Mihawk's going to be pissed. Digging through his glove compartment, he locates a pair of sunglasses. Placing them gently on his nose, he's pleased to find they cover his bruising completely.

Climbing out of his Honda, he locks up and trudges across the parking lot, bag slung over his shoulder. Despite the ache in his nose, he keeps his head down, not wanting to draw too much attention to his face. His entrance in the building goes unnoticed; security busy with the bustling visitor area. Quietly he flashes his badge in front of the access scanner, hearing the beep of approval and the door unlatch.

Making his way down the hall to the back elevators, he stops dead in his tracks, spotting Mihawk himself coming out of the men's restroom, briefcase in hand. Fuck. There's no way the man didn't spot him. Zoro casually picks back up his pace, meeting him in front of the elevator doors.

They wait in silence as the light softly dings, signaling the arrival of the elevator. Zoro steps aside for Mihawk to enter first and then follows suit, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, staring straight ahead. Mihawk selects the fourth floor and their ascension begins.

"Roronoa."

Zoro continues staring straight ahead, only nodding slightly to indicate he heard his Sergeant.

"Take those blasted things off right now, you buffoon."

Sighing, Zoro reaches up and tears off the sunglasses, allowing Mihawk to view in full horror the state of his face.

Mihawk inhales sharply, his piercing eyes inspecting Zoro's broken nose incredulously. The elevator door opens at their stop but neither man moves, tension thick around them. Finally, the Sergeant clicks his tongue and shakes his head, walking off the elevator towards his office. Zoro steps out into the hall and winces, the slam of Mihawk's office door echoing across the laminate floor. Honestly, it went better than expected.

Entering his own office, Zoro's not surprised to see Law already at his desk. The man has no life. He's sipping coffee out of his red thermos, reading notes on his computer.

Zoro mutters hello and sets his bag down. Law spins around in his chair but stops abruptly as he catches sight of Zoro's face. This song and dance again.

"Not even going to ask," Law grumbles, turning back to his computer.

"Good," Zoro responds, digging his own laptop out of his bag and setting it up on his desk.

Mihawk walks into their office, eyeglasses sitting on the tip of his nose, looking over a case file in hand. "All right, Trafalgar, you're with me," he delivers a sharp look to Zoro, "Don't get comfortable. Go seek medical treatment, and psychiatric while you're at it."

"What the fuck, Mihawk?" Zoro rumbles, slamming his computer closed.

"You have the audacity to come to my office looking like you just got out of a bar fight and then dare question my orders?" Mihawk barks out, intensely glaring at Zoro.

Zoro crosses his arms and glances at Law, who is still staring at his computer screen, obviously not wanting to get involved.

"Doctor's note required. I will not have you compromising our work with your stupidity. With your face like that, how am I to trust you don't have a concussion or worse?"

"Fine," Zoro concedes, shoving his laptop back into his bag and shouldering it irritably.

Minutes later, he's whipping out of the parking lot, undoing the top buttons of his shirt. Fucking prick.

Cell phone in hand, he locates Chopper's number and calls, trying to keep his eyes on the traffic. Hopefully the kid isn't in class.

"Hello?"

"Need a doctor's note."

"I'm not a doctor!"

Zoro huffs, aggravated at the situation, "Need it for work."

"Have you ever thought about going to an actual doctor?"

"That's why I'm coming to you," Zoro smiles, squinting at the street signs. He thinks he needs to take a left at the next turn. Or maybe the one after. "You at home?"

Silence, followed by a small sigh, "Yeah, I'm home. Come on by."

Zoro ends the call and sets his phone in his cup holder, switching on his left blinker and turning down the next street, relieved to find he picked the correct one. Few miles up and he spots the entrance to the neighborhood, familiarity taking over his sense of direction. Right, left, left once more and he's pulled into the driveway of an expansive colonial home.

Tucking his phone into his pocket, he makes his way to the front door, rapping twice on the sturdy wood. A faint voice beckons him in and he lets himself inside, greeted in the foyer by an array of potted flowers.

Zoro's always found Robin's home a bit odd, kind of like her. Old, antiquated, but different from his country house. Outside it's pristine, white, and colonial. Inside updated, modernized, and yet still warm, inviting. Overstuffed with flowers and bookcases, almost every wall is covered in decadent paintings, maps, and sculptures. Mismatched, reflective of the shockingly different personalities that reside there. Steampunk models, framed blueprints of massive ships, an array of Coca-cola collectibles weave through the barrage of foliage, history, and classicism.

"Oh my."

Zoro looks towards the kitchen to find Robin leaning against the doorway, glass of iced tea in hand. He'd forgotten she recently cut her hair, her bangs reminiscent of when they first met. She's smiling her peculiar smile, eyes admiring his face.

"The doctor will be unhappy."

Zoro shrugs and makes his way towards the kitchen. Robin's house is like a second home; so much time is spent hanging out at her place. Especially in the summer, her large pool in the back an inviting feature. Zoro suspects she picked a pool home with Luffy and Chopper in mind, although Franky seems to enjoy it too. After Memorial Day, he spends most of his free time out on the deck in a Speedo.

Brushing past Robin, he opens a cabinet, grabbing a glass and filling it with tap water.

"There's bottles in the fridge," she offers, sitting down at her table where stacks of papers wait. An archeology professor at the local college, she always seems to be surrounded with papers and books. Early twenties spent active in the field, she began teaching a couple years back.

"This is fine," he replies, gulping down his drink and rinsing out the glass. "Where's Chopper?"

"His room, I believe."

Zoro nods, leaving her behind in the kitchen and jogging up the stairs, taking two at a time. Chopper stays with Robin and Franky while he's in medical school. Former roommate of Luffy and Usopp, he complained they were just too wild to handle during finals. That's when Robin offered him room and board, free of charge. She's got a soft spot for the little guy. Four-bedroom house and no children, they have plenty of space. Zoro's glad she's taken Chopper under her wing, the kid has no parents, just his ancient grandmother, who has her hands full at her low-income clinic.

Down the hall, door's open, Zoro peeks his head inside. Situated at a wood desk is Chopper, books piled high all around him. Short and thin, standing at about 5'4'', he's endlessly teased and coddled for his small stature. Zoro's never once been to a bar where they didn't have to wait at least twenty minutes for the bouncer to scrutinize every detail of the kid's license, complete disbelief that he's twenty-two.

All these years that they've known each other, their bond has deepened, even more familial than the ones he shares with Usopp or Nami. Chopper's like a little brother, someone he mentors and protects. Hard work is how Zoro's gotten to where he is today, in life and his career. No college education, he barely made it through high school. Constantly working to prove himself to those around him. Not Chopper. He's got brains, book smarts, and goddamn he'll be successful. Zoro's personally invested in it, to such a degree that he pays for part of Chopper's tuition.

"Hey there."

Chopper turns his head to greet him but the smile on his face is quickly replaced with look of shock and concern. Flying out of his seat, he grabs Zoro's arm and tugs him to the desk chair, Zoro allowing himself to be dragged across the room.

"Broken nose? Concussion? Neck injury? How did this happen? Car accident? Bar fight? Zoro, you better not have gotten into another fight…" Chopper starts panicking, a trait he's going to have to grow out of if he plans to be a pediatrician.

"Calm down. Blacked out drunk last night, dunno what happened."

Using the large bottle of hand sanitizer he has sitting on the desk, Chopper wipes down before he starts feeling Zoro's nose, his touch gentle but still causing the older man to flinch.

"Feels like a typical nasal fracture," Chopper concludes, pulling his hands away, "Trauma from below. Did you fall over and hit your face on anything? "

Zoro shrugs, "So can you give me a doctor's note? Mihawk's being a dick."

"You're lucky it isn't healing crooked, that could cause a deviated septum. Which means surgery," Chopper chides, reaching into the desk drawer and pulling out a small stack of doctor's notes he'd pilfered from his grandmother's clinic. They've had this deal for years; Chopper supplies notes as long as Zoro promises he goes to the E.R. when deemed necessary. Forgery at its finest.

"Thanks," Zoro accepts the paper, grateful to have something to give to his piece of shit boss.

Speak of the devil, his phone rings, probably Mihawk. Standing, he plucks his phone out of his pocket and checks the name on the screen. It's the other piece of shit.

"What?" he answers.

"Are you done with Tony? Need you back here," Law asks dryly, completely aware of Zoro's relationship with Chopper.

Beeping in his ear, Zoro looks at his phone and sees he has an incoming call. Mihawk.

"The hawk is calling," Zoro tells Law, using the office nickname for the Sergeant. Ending Law's call, he answers, "What?"

"Don't 'what' me, Roronoa. Have my note yet?"

"Yeah, got it right here." Zoro waves goodbye at Chopper, trudging down the hall to the stairs.

"Good. Come back to the office, we have things to discuss."

Mihawk hangs up on him before Zoro has the pleasure of doing the same.

Walking by the kitchen, Zoro pokes his head in, Robin still seated at the table grading papers. She smiles farewell before returning to her work. Zoro makes his way to the car, wondering what could be so important that both Law and Mihawk called him to return.

Back at the precinct, Zoro's surprised to discover his and Law's office empty. Moving a couple doors down, he glances in the entryway of Mihawk's office and finds Law seated in one of the chairs in front of the man's large desk.

Mihawk extends his hand out, snapping his fingers, beckoning him to pass over his doctor's note. Grumbling, Zoro digs the folded piece of paper out of his pocket and places it in the outstretched hand. After a quick glance, Mihawk seems satisfied with its contents, opening a desk drawer and tucking it away. With swift motion, he gestures for Zoro to take a seat in the chair next to Law.

Wordlessly, Zoro takes a seat, raising an eyebrow at Law, who looks irritated, his long legs crossed in front of him, foot swinging haphazardly. Then again, he always looks like that.

"I've volunteered you both to go assist on a case in Drum Municipality."

Zoro blinks. He knows the name. As a matter of fact, it's close to where Chopper's from, out in the Adirondacks.

"I don't expect you to be gone for more than a few days," Mihawk continues, "Should be an easy case, the local Sheriff's office just needs our expertise."

"When do we leave?" Zoro inquires, mind already sorting what he has to take care of at home. He has to figure something out with Sanji.

"I want you there by tomorrow morning."

Shit. That's cutting it close. Glancing at the wall clock, it's already after noon. If he had to guess, they're in for a four-hour drive and Law probably will want to get there before too late.

For some strange reason, Law is tense, his foot still swinging and his head lowered. There must be something he knows about the case that Zoro isn't aware of.

Mihawk notices this too and rolls his eyes, "Onto the smaller details, the Drum PD is willing to foot the bill for gas, a food per diem, and the hotel room. One hotel room."

Law cracks, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in his chair. "I'm not sharing a room."

Zoro agrees with the sentiment. Going out of town for work is already annoying but having to live in the same hotel room as Law would make it damn near intolerable.

"Calm down, you insufferable twat. Lieutenant Smoker is willing to pay for a second hotel room."

Tension melts from Law's stance; he looks so relieved that he doesn't even respond to Mihawk's insult. Jokes on him, Zoro would have paid for his own hotel room to get away from staying with that guy.

Mihawk hands each of them a case file, droning on about the specifics of their investigation. Zoro half listens, knowing that whatever Mihawk is saying is written down in the notes and can be read later. Keeping an eye on the clock, he mentally starts a checklist of everything he needs to do at home.

 

* * *

 

 

Sanji's awakened by creaking noises, blinking his eyes blearily at the Green Bastard as he walks through the door. It's strange - it doesn't feel like enough time has passed for him to be home. Usually Sanji gets two check-ins a day, morning and night. This feels midday. Even stranger, the man is hauling bags of stuff, a case of water, and oddly, a bucket.

The man leaves the door open and to Sanji's surprise, a cat peeks its head around the door, rubbing against it as it walks in. Black and white, too big to be a kitten and too small to be full-grown. It's surreal to be in the presence of another living creature besides the Green Bastard.

"Oni, what are you doin'?" Roronoa asks the cat, softness in his voice that's not been expressed before. Bending over, he pats the cat's head lightly, tender look on his face.

Sanji's honestly baffled, his demented captor, the Green Bastard, the murderous psychopath is fucking petting and talking to the cat like a gentle giant. And she loves it, rubbing against his legs, her purrs audible all the way where Sanji's sitting. Even from where he sits, Sanji can tell by the petite frame and anatomy that it's a girl.

Oni – or at least that's what Sanji thinks he heard - hops up from the floor to the workbench counter, where the man is unloading bags, food scattered across the counter like he's taking inventory.

Green Bastard hauls over the case of water, dropping it down at the foot of Sanji's bed. The bucket goes next to it. The cat jumps off the counter and follows the man across the room, stopping at the edge of Sanji's bed and tentatively sniffing the mattress. Sanji reaches his fingers out towards her but she turns away, chasing after Green Bastard as he gathers the food. The man gently scoots her out of the room with his foot and closes the door, apparently done with her distractions.

Sanji sits back, his disbelief unnoticed by Roronoa as he piles food against the wall by the head of Sanji's mattress. Sanji surveys the stack of provisions, nonperishable with the exception of some apples and bananas. Crackers, chips, nuts, peanut butter, granola. It's enough to last him a few days, a week tops. Between the food, the water, and the bucket, he can assume that the bastard's not going to be down for a while.

"You're going away."

Green Bastard ignores him, opting instead to return to the workbench and collect the bags he used to haul the food in. Sanji lies down, turning his back to the room, and closes his eyes. Sleep is the only thing he has to do. He hears the man unlock a drawer and search through it, shuffling through some papers before closing it again. Moments later, the door's slammed and locked, the sounds of his footsteps ascending, leaving Sanji completely alone once more.

Upstairs, Zoro finishes packing his duffle and work bag. Buried deep in the folds of his clothes are two case files, exact replicas of the originals housed back at the station. One for Crocodile, the other labeled Sanji Black. Time away means getting work done.

Oni lies on the bed, giving him grief for having to leave her. Cats always seem to know. Astute. Something Zoro appreciates. Reaching over, he tickles her chin apologetically, a small nip at his fingers indicating she's not quite ready to forgive him yet.

Bottomless food and water dispensers' set up in the kitchen, Zoro's got everything prepared for Oni. No one else has a key to his house but she'll be fine until he's returned. Bags slung over shoulder, he exits his home, making sure to lock the door before heading to his car.

Luggage shoved in the back, Zoro starts the engine and reverses out of the driveway, turning towards the city to pick up Law. They should be able to make it to the highway before rush hour traffic.

Half an hour or so and Zoro's parked in front of Law's apartment complex. He walks up two flights of stairs to the man's third floor unit and knocks. Door opens, Law already turned back to the space, leaving Zoro in the entryway. Entering, Zoro glances around, stacks of boxes full of case files, paperwork, and books are the only clutter in the empty space. A table with two chairs in the kitchen, a sofa in the living room, small TV. Following Law to the bedroom, he watches as the man pulls a jacket out of the closet and folds it neatly into his suitcase. Mattress on the floor, small dresser, and more piles of papers. Textbook definition of workaholic.

Zoro rattles the keys in his shorts pocket, having changed into something comfortable for their drive. Law's done the same, jeans and a black t-shirt, tattoos on full display, an uncommon occurrence for him since he's usually in work clothes. A white and black knit cap is on his head, fucking stupid considering it's June.

Law zips up his suitcase, nodding towards the door. Zoro walks to the living room, Law trailing behind, stopping to pick up his work bag from his table. Lights off and door locked, they're on their way down the stairs to Zoro's SUV. Bags loaded in the back, they climb in, Law immediately snatching Zoro's GPS to tap in the address.

"This," he says with a smirk, holding up the small gadget, "is the only reason I agreed to ride with you."

"Shut up," Zoro grumbles, leaving the apartment parking lot and turning onto the main road.

"Should've went left," Law chastises.

"Not my fault. Streets don't make sense downtown."

Law hums in response, staring out the window as Zoro manages to u-turn and head in the correct direction. They drive in amicable silence, quickly making their way out of the city and onto the open road. The GPS reads a little under four hours until they reach their destination.

"What happened to your face?" Law breaks their peace.

"Dunno," Zoro shifts in his seat, only keeping his left hand on the wheel, right elbow leaning on the center console. "Too drunk to remember."

"You did drink a lot," Law agrees, "but what kind of idiot breaks their own nose while drunk?"

"Drunken stumbling is a thing. At least I didn't puke in the bushes."

"Must've ordered me a double when you went to the bar," Law accuses, crossing his arms.

"Probably was the Coke Zero. Shit's nasty, full of chemicals."

Law shrugs, ignoring the comment. "Can't believe he thought you'd get along with that freak."

Zoro smirks, giving Law a sidelong glance. Arms crossed, staring out the window, Zoro can tell he's still irritated by the night before. Doesn't surprise him, the guy's pretty good at holding grudges.

"Wasn't Luffy's fault, but he is a moron," Zoro comments, keeping focused straight ahead. There's no response so he continues, "Can't tell me you weren't proud of yourself for that little stunt."

This earns a small snort, "Really scared that guy off, huh?"

"He probably thought he was next. Would scare me off, too."

Law chuckles, "Heard Nami talking about some friend of hers. Keep your ears open for more dinner invitations."

Zoro groans, lifting his right hand to rub his scarred eye, "They should stop."

"Your friends are an odd bunch," Law states as if he's not friends with them all as well, "But they're good people."

Zoro nods, aware how weighty that comment is coming from Law. Mihawk warned him when he joined on as a detective that Law came from a hard background - gangs, betrayal, violence. He's noticed time and time again it's hard for the other man to connect with people. When he got close with Luffy, Zoro was happy for him, knowing first hand the positive influence Luffy has on those around him.

Reaching over, Zoro turns on the radio, fumbling through the stations. Law pulls out his phone, tapping away on the screen. Content with what he's found, Zoro sits back and re-focuses on driving.

"Why do we have to listen to this old shit?" Law complains, still staring down at his phone.

"My car, my music."

Most of the ride is spent without conversation, only the radio and the periodic directions from the GPS filling the air. By the time they reach the small town of Drum Municipality, it's dark out and Zoro's stomach is growling.

Spotting a Subway sign in the distance, he turns to Law and jokes, "Wanna get sandwiches?"

Law lifts his head from his phone, face scrunched in disgust, "Fuck you."

Zoro laughs as they drive by the sub place, Law hitting him in the shoulder.

The hotel isn't hard to find, there's only a handful in the area. Parking in a spot out front, Zoro's glad to get out of the car and stretch. Gathering their luggage from the back, they walk into the hotel lobby, greeted by a bored-looking girl behind the counter.

Without lifting her head from the book lying on the counter, she asks, "Name?"

"Law Trafalgar."

Heavy sigh, she closes her book and looks at him expectantly.

"T-R-A-F-A-L-G-A-R."

"And your first?"

"Law. Like Law & Order. L-A-W."

Zoro raises an eyebrow at this. Typing into the computer, the girl finds his reservation, handing him a room key. Zoro hands her his driver's license to expedite the process. Swiftly checked in, they're debriefed about the hotel's free continental breakfast and haphazardly pointed in the direction of the elevators.

Muttering thanks, they make their way down the hall, both ignoring the elevators for the stairs. On the second floor they easily find their rooms, right across the hall from each other. Law says goodnight, assuring Zoro he's not hungry, before entering his hotel room, immediately pausing in the doorway to put the Do Not Disturb sign on his door.

Zoro shakes his head and enters his own room, flipping on the switch to fill the space with dim light. Everything is a burnt orange, the blankets, the curtains, the carpet. Small double bed, dresser, TV, and a desk – every hotel room is the same. Chucking his bags onto the bed, he pulls back the curtains, glancing out the window to see if he can find a corner store nearby. Spotting a small gas station within walking distance, he tucks his room key into his wallet and makes his way out into the night.

Twenty minutes later, he's back in his room, six-pack of beer and a bag of snacks in hand. Pouring out his bags, he locates his laptop and the two case files he'd hidden, setting them out on the desk. Beer opened, piece of jerky in mouth, he boots up his computer, fingers tapping on his case files as it loads. Looking between the two manila folders, he mentally debates which one to pick up first.

Tracing his thumb along the edge of the file, Zoro opens the front cover, crime scene photos right on top. Pushing those aside, he locates what he needed, a thin disk. Opening his computer drive, he slides the disk out of its case and places it in the drive, pushing it closed. Whirring sounds come from the computer before his video viewer pops up, play button ready to be pushed. Click of the mouse and the image comes to life.

Nighttime, apartment parking lot, not much activity. No cars bustling, no people walking, just lights glowing in the black and white exposure. A man appears, gangly, thin. Dark clothes, light hair, hands in pockets, shoulders shrugged. Turning towards the building, he disappears into the shadows. Fast-forwarding the video, Zoro returns to normal feedback after an hour passes on the recording. Same shrug, same walk, same man reappears from the building, stopping on the sidewalk to pull a cigarette out of his pocket. Two flicks, its lit. Raising his head to exhale, Sanji Black's grainy image completely visible, cloud of smoke trailing behind as he walks out of frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading and for the kudos/comments. I try to reply to every comment if I can. I appreciate it all, it's really motivating!


	5. Chapter 5

Eight days.

Sanji looks over the piles he's built around him, small mounds of food expertly planned for each meal. If he eats two meals a day, he has enough food for eight days. Thankfully the Green Bastard left the light on, he's able to see everything around him and keep organized. Tweaking slightly, Sanji swaps some granola on day three for some crackers scheduled for day seven. Each meal must be balanced, well thought out. No clue when he might get food again. The water is organized to last longer, given he was provided a full case of twenty-four bottles. Water is a little more precious anyway. Suffering comes quicker without water.

Bananas and apples are slotted earlier in his week. Since they're perishable, he wants to make sure to eat them at optimum freshness. Granola and peanut butter are to be eaten in the mornings, to give his body fiber and protein for the day. Crackers, nuts, and chips are his evening meals. At least the Green Bastard had the sense to give him almonds and pistachios, both vitamin rich. Looking over his spread, he's actually surprised at the amount of healthy food he received, besides the damned potato chips. Now if only he could get his hands on a hot meal.

Picking up a water bottle, he tears at the paper wrapper and tosses it on the floor at the foot of his bed, using this area as a makeshift trash can. He's designated this bottle as non-drinkable, only to be used with cleaning up. One of the blankets he was given has a frayed corner that he's been ripping at since he's been down here. The seams are sufficiently tattered; he doesn't have to use much force to remove a strip of fabric. Dunking the cloth into the water, he wets it before carefully recapping the bottle and bringing the material to his mouth. Opening wide, he uses the cloth as a crude toothbrush, scrubbing each tooth and his tongue to try to make himself feel even the slightest bit cleaner. More human. Outcome better than expected, he tosses the dirty cloth aside and uses one of the bare threads as dental floss, trying to reach every ounce of plaque.

Done with his teeth, he rips and wets another piece of material and uses it as a rag, wiping as much of his face he can reach. Almost completely used to the handcuffs, he has little issue moving his arms in unison to stretch as far as possible. Forcing his mind to be blank, he focuses only on his task. Plenty of time to think later. Always a multitasker, he's trying to rid himself of that habit in the cellar. There's no point in saving time here. Spanning activities as long as possible fills the gaps between sleeping and eating.

Done with his cleaning, he sets the rag aside with the other trash and moves onto breakfast. Bundling his meal in his lap, he scoots so his back is against the cool wall, long legs extended in front of him, and stares at the large furnace across the room. Since day one, it has struck him as out of place. It looks newer than anything else in the cellar. The house is obviously old; the plumbing in the bathroom is early 20th century at best. But while still old, the furnace looks to be from a different era. Industrial.

Munching on his banana, he counts every bite before swallowing. Same with the granola and the peanut butter. Of course Green Bastard gave him a jar of peanut butter with no knife or spoon. Using a cracker, he digs out a scoop, finishing his breakfast. Couple sips of water to wash it down and his morning activities are over.

Cosette.

Sanji runs his hands through the fringe of his hair, shaking his head slightly. The picture Roronoa showed him has imprinted on his memory. He sees it when he sleeps. What happened to Cosette?

Sanji barely knew her; she had asked him for a job at the restaurant before she went missing. She seemed bright, eager to learn, although her resume had no experience listed. Wanting to get to know her more informally to try to figure out if she was a good fit for the restaurant, Sanji invited her for coffee. It was enjoyable - she spoke passionately. A home chef, someone who was enthusiastic about food and really wanting to get her foot in the door of the industry. They'd parted ways agreeing she would come to work at the restaurant as a line cook to learn the ropes. She was to start the following day.

She never showed up.

Sanji swallows hard, now knowing that was because she was killed. He called her that evening to probe why she hadn't come in to work but there was no answer. Few days later police stopped by - not Roronoa, other cops asking if he knew her and what their relationship was. He told the truth, making sure they had every detail of the interview in case it helped in finding her. Never heard a word after, from the police or from her.

Now he's chained to this fucking wall being accused of murdering a girl he hardly knew. Shit doesn't make sense.

Sanji rests the back of his head against the wall and glances up at the ceiling, briefly wondering if the cat is doing okay since the Green Bastard is gone. Considering he was never cuffed behind his back or gagged, Sanji has to assume that the man doesn't plan on having anyone check in on his house while he's gone. Maybe he took the cat with him.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Sanji tries to imagine the feel and taste of a cigarette. Experts say that supposedly after three days without smoking you can consider yourself "cured" of nicotine addiction. What a load of shit. He may not be the murderer he's accused of being but right now he'd kill for a cigarette.

Fiddling with his handcuffs absent-mindedly, Sanji allows his thoughts to wander to the Green Bastard. Who is he? What does he want? Counting on his fingers, he mentally names every fact he knows about his captor. Name's Roronoa. Green hair. Shitty killer. Has a cat. Seems to leave the house early in the morning and doesn't come home until late at night. Cop. He's eaten at Baratie.

It was right before lunch rush, the restaurant still quiet but preparing for the masses of business suits, students, and families coming to enjoy a quick bite to eat. Sanji was out in the bar taking inventory, trusting Patty and Carne to prep the kitchen. The tables were mostly empty; Baratie doesn't get busy until afternoon. Maybe one or two parties were spread out across the booths. Completely uneventful, a typical day. Until a man with green hair walked in.

Moseying up to the bar, he placed a to-go order with the bartender – can't remember who - before taking a seat on one of the stools to wait. His bartender disappeared to give the order to the kitchen. Sanji continued taking inventory but was soon beckoned by the patron.

"Bartender, shot of whiskey."

Sanji's eyebrows shot up as he checked his watch, not even noon yet. Turning on his heel, he made eye contact with the man. Scarred eye, he remembers now. "Little early, don't ya think?"

Chuckling, the man checked his phone, probably to look at the time. "Not for me," he said with a smile, "Jack is fine."

"Not the bartender," Sanji advised him, grabbing a shot glass and the nearest bottle of Jack Daniels, "Just taking inventory."

Sanji remembers in this moment seeing some kind of badge around the guy's neck but try as he might, he can't recall a name. Closing his eyes, he gently taps his head against the cellar wall, willing himself to make the fuzzy image in his mind as clear as possible. Concentrating hard, he focuses on every aspect of Roronoa. The green hair, the cocky smile, white button up shirt, tan skin, broad shoulders, but that fucking badge eludes him. Opening his eyes again, brow furrowed, he wonders why he knew the man is a cop if he can't remember that badge.

Sighing, he stares straight forward, replaying the memory once more.

"Just taking inventory."

The man shrugged and pulled out his wallet, placing a ten on the bar. Sanji poured the drink and set it in front of him, picking up his payment and cashing out the tab. He left the tip on the register for the real bartender.

Silence between them, the man took his shot and waited for his food. Sanji returned to his clipboard and thought nothing of the exchange until the food was delivered and he stood up, plastic to-go bag in hand.

"Back to work," he muttered to himself as he stretched, catching Sanji's attention.

"Hope you don't have an important job, drinking on lunch like that," Sanji joked, watching the man pluck his keys out of his pocket.

"Not too important," Roronoa answered, grin on his face, "Just serving and protecting."

 

* * *

 

 

Loud snoring stirs him, his subconscious faintly realizing that the snores are his own. Head turning, bringing up a hand to wipe drool off of his chin, Zoro awakens from his slumber. Vision blurry, he blinks at the small clock on the table by the bed, red numbers telling him it's a little after six. Papers strewn across the mattress around him, he fell asleep reading about Crocodile. Sitting up, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and yawns loudly, swinging his legs to the edge of the bed.

Sitting for a moment as he wakes up he cracks his neck loudly and scratches his bare back. Glancing over his shoulder, he decides it's best to put those papers away. Standing, he moves around the bed and collects the documents, stuffing them back into their file and tucking it into his duffle bag.

Grabbing his shorts off the ground, he pulls them up carelessly, leaving them hanging low on his hips. Doesn't matter, going to shower anyway. Stretching as he walks, he pockets his key card before leaving his room. Crossing the few feet of hallway between his door and Law's, he pauses before he knocks, hearing the sounds of the television from inside.

Two hard knocks. Law opens the door, hood of his jacket pulled over his messy hair. Deep bags under his eyes, cup of coffee in hand. The room is dark except for the glow of the television, the opening theme of Law & Order playing in the background. Law takes a sip of his coffee, staring at him impatiently.

"What do you want?"

Zoro shoulders past him and into the room, plopping onto the foot of Law's still made bed and laying across it. "Did you sleep last night?"

"Law & Order: SVU marathon was on," Law replies, refilling his cup.

Zoro takes that explanation as a no.

"Want some?" Law asks, nodding towards the coffee pot. "Brought it from home."

Of course he did. Zoro shakes his head, not much of a coffee drinker. "What's our itinerary?"

Zoro spots Law's eyes following his hand as he rubs the scar on his chest absent-mindedly. He's one of the few people who know the full story behind it, besides Luffy and Mihawk. Law's hoodie is unzipped, his large chest tattoo peeking out from under it. Always been interesting to Zoro, both of them heavily marked by their pasts.

"Hawk said Drum expects us around nine," Law finally answers, turning back to his television show. "I know this episode. The clown did it."

No words pass between them, Law sitting back on the bed and watching a few minutes of the show. Zoro closes his eyes and dozes a bit, late night keeping his head heavy with sleep.

"Your swelling's down."

Reaching up with his left hand, Zoro touches his nose tenderly. Law's right, the swelling's down. Still sore. The mattress shifts. Cold hand pushes his away, fingertips feeling the bridge of his nose lightly. Zoro puts his arm back at his side, allowing Law to examine his injury. Law's a medical school dropout. While he normally refuses to look at any of Zoro's injuries, the few occasions he's caved have proven he's just as good as Chopper. Soft hum and the hand is gone.

"Never ate a proper meal last night," Zoro yawns, the last part of his sentence trailing off. Sitting up, he twists to crack his back, earning a sideways glare from Law. "Let's go get some grub."

"Give me half an hour."

Back in his room, Zoro takes a fast shower, the small hotel bathroom filled with steam by the time he steps out. Draping his towel over his shoulders, he stands undressed in front of the sink and shaves the black stubble that's accumulated along his jaw. Through the mirror's fog he can see the discoloration around both his eyes, the bruising still vibrant and noticeable. Should start fading throughout the day.

Teeth brushed, deodorant applied, he takes a second to slick back his hair before ambling into the room. Duffle bag hoisted to the bed, he sifts through it to find boxer briefs, pants, and a button-down. Completely dressed, he locates a pair of black socks and his loafers. Bag packed and pockets filled, he's out the door.

Law's already made it to the hotel lobby before him, across the room lurking in the small eatery tucked in the corner. As Zoro approaches, he can tell by the look on the other man's face that there's no way they'll take advantage of the advertised breakfast. The guy can be such a bitch about food.

Spotting him enter, Law nods his head towards the front entrance, changing Zoro's course to walk out of the hotel. Catching up to him, Law explains, "Mostly toast and pastries."

"Didn't want any toast?" Zoro teases, unlocking his Honda and tossing his bag on the backseat.

"No chance," Law grumbles, climbing into the passenger seat. Once Zoro's situated behind the wheel, he continues, "Guy at the desk said there's a diner down the street."

Zoro nods and starts the engine. After a night of lukewarm beer and jerky, a hot meal sounds good. They take off from the parking lot, Zoro relying on Law's pointing to get them to their destination. A couple miles down the road they find the small diner. Local place. By the number of cars parked out front, must be a halfway decent stop, especially since it's only seven in the morning.

Walking in the door, they cause a few heads to turn, new faces to the locals and regulars of the establishment. A middle-aged woman motions them to an empty booth and they sit down, Law carefully rearranging the silverware placed at the edge of the table. Zoro glances around at the semi-full restaurant, catching a few people staring at them before returning to their meals. Law's oblivious, face buried in his cell phone. Most likely working already.

A young kid, no older than Chopper, appears tableside placing menus in front of them. His round eyes linger on Zoro's bruised face and scar, causing Zoro to knit his brow into a glare. Pulling a small pad out from his pocket, the server gulps and asks, "What can I get you to drink?"

"Diet Coke," Law responds, not looking up from his phone.

"Is Pepsi okay?" the kid retorts, causing Zoro to suppress a chuckle.

"No." Law finally lifts his head, glaring at the waiter.

The server laughs dryly, probably used to this kind of joke. Zoro knows Law isn't joking, though. He watches as the other man flips open the menu and locates the drink section, sighing as he confirms they only sell Pepsi products.

"Iced tea."

The waiter nods and turns to Zoro. "Same."

Promising to return soon, the server leaves to fetch their drinks. Zoro leans forward in his seat and looks over the menu, Law quietly doing the same. Their drinks arrive momentarily and they both order their breakfast, left alone once again to wait. Law returns to tapping away on his screen while Zoro continues looking around the restaurant, observing it more. Even though Drum Municipality has a decent size population, it still has a small town feel. The people seem familiar with each other, jovially interacting, patrons and staff alike. Wooden panels, overstuffed booths, plaid plastic tablecloths. Standard local diner.

A bell over the door jingles and Zoro spots a large man entering the restaurant, dark-haired and as big as an ox. Studying his clothing, he appears to be an officer of some kind, given the khaki uniform. Zoro squints, thinking he might spy a sheriff's badge on the man's chest. At that moment, the man makes eye contact with him and smiles, starting towards their booth. Swiftly, Zoro kicks Law under the table, receiving a glare until Law notices the hulking figure approaching quickly.

"Not from around here are ya?" the man asks, arriving at the side of their table. Sheriff's badge in plain sight. "You boys from Waterton, by chance?"

"We are," Law answers coolly, looking the man up and down. He's taken aback when a large hand is shoved at him, grasping it hesitantly in his slender grip.

"Sheriff Dalton," the man introduces himself, letting go of Law's hand and reaching for Zoro's.

Zoro shakes it firmly, "Zoro Roronoa and Law Trafalgar."

"Nice to meet you," Dalton grins, releasing his hold, "We really appreciate you taking time to come help us out."

"No trouble," Law replies smoothly.

"Picked a good time of year to come up and visit, weather's real nice."

Zoro grimaces into his tea as he takes a sip. Fucking small talk.

"Glad you found a good place to eat, you'll need your energy," Dalton continues as he checks a silver watch on his wrist. "Listen, I'll leave you boys alone to enjoy your breakfast in peace. We'll talk at the station."

They nod goodbye to Dalton, Zoro watching his hulking frame cross to the opposite side of the restaurant and slide into a booth.

"Big guy," Zoro comments offhandedly, Law agreeing with a mumble.

Their food arrives, smelling heavenly and steaming hot. Digging in, Zoro sighs contentedly with the first bite. Been awhile since he had a good, hot meal. They eat in silence, the only interruption coming from their waiter refilling their drinks and laying the check on the table. Once the plates are clear and their bellies full, Zoro leans back in his seat and picks up the tab.

"I'll get it," Law tells him, reaching to grab the slip but Zoro moves out of range.

"It's fine, I got it," Zoro tells him, already tugging his wallet out of his back pocket.

Leaving a few bills on the table, they stand and head out to the car. The air is warming up, June coming full force this year. Even in the mountainous area of the Adirondacks, Zoro feels sweat starting under his collar.

"Wait a sec."

The two men turn, a voice coming from behind them. Out of the restaurant doors appears Dalton, steaming coffee in hand. Catching up to them, he takes a sip from his cup before looking around, "Did Sergeant Mihawk fill you in on the case?"

Sharing a glance, Zoro and Law both nod.

Dalton's voice lowers to a hushed whisper, "Did he tell you we think it's our Mayor?"

Zoro's eye widens, eyebrow cocked. Mihawk didn't mention that part, only said Drum needed their expertise. Takes a lot of work for a government agency to take down an appointed office.

"Do you have proof?" Law inquires seriously, intensity radiating from his hazel eyes.

"Follow me to the station, I'll show you what I've got."

At the station, Zoro and Law are quickly shuffled through the process of getting temporary badges and accesses to the building. Dalton introduces them to his staff, pointing out key players in the investigation. An hour later, the trio is seated in Dalton's office, door closed and investigation notes in hand. Photographs litter his desk, images from the crime scene and shots of suspects, including one of a short, squat man. Mayor Wapol.

"Drum's a quiet place. Murder isn't something we regularly encounter," Dalton explains apologetically.

Zoro finishes rustling through the photos, reports, and notes of the pending investigation. Everything is clear and concise; he's not sure why he and Law need to be here. There's even forensics supporting Dalton's theory. Two deaths, both by gunshot. Bad alibis, a match between the bullets and a gun registered in the Mayor's name. Doesn't take a big team to figure out this one.

Law seems to notice the same. Face quizzical, he sets down the papers and crosses his arms, cocking his head to the side, "Why do you need us?"

"It's a sensitive investigation," Dalton starts, standing from his chair and pacing the room, "Lots to consider…"

It clicks.

"You need us because you can't accuse your own Mayor," Zoro states bluntly. He may not be a fan of office politics but he knows they exist. Shit like this always keeps one hand of the law tied behind it's back. Stepping on toes, media loops, statuses and titles. It all contributes to criminals scraping by, slipping through the cracks. Zoro's experienced his fair share of acquittals for these reasons. Unfortunately for those bastards, his special brand of justice doesn't care who you are or what your title is. Death comes to everyone.

"Precisely," Dalton sighs, continuing his pacing. "I ran for Mayor against Wapol last term. His team will spin this as some cheap shot against him, sway the town's opinion. I need outside guys to take a look at everything, make sure I'm not jaded, and lay down the hammer. Mihawk was debriefed on all of this."

Zoro rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the arm. It's a fucking waste of their time; any team at the office could have done this. Why did Mihawk have to choose him and Law? Still, he has to appreciate Dalton's effort. Better to use this tactic and ensure the mayor makes it behind bars instead of creating a conspiracy and risking justice.

"How quickly can you get this case before a judge?" Law questions.

"Tomorrow. Can get you home in less than a week if we start today." Dalton drops back into his chair, earnest expression written on his face.

Zoro makes eye contact with Law, nodding sharply. "Let's take that prick down."

 

* * *

 

 

Zoro sits at the dingy hotel desk, head resting in his hands. The arrest went well that afternoon - Wapol booked and locked up in the small holding cell at the station. True to his promise, Dalton got the case moved to court tomorrow. Zoro's sure the man knew that Wapol would have a defense attorney waiting to spring into action. Small towns are good for this kind of thing - their courts are quick. Less ugly. City courts can be dangerous, the large system makes for slow processing. Too much opportunity for vermin to escape.

Still, resolution can't come quick enough. Every day that Zoro's stuck in this town is another day Crocodile has a chance of fleeing away from the city. Zoro hopes that his arrogance is larger than his intelligence and he'll still remain in his cesspool of a home. Then matters can be taken into his own hands. Piece of shit has to pay.

Crocodile's case is spread before him, a photo of their key witness sitting right on top. She was one of Crocodile's victims, a survivor they found when raiding a warehouse the disappearances were tracked to. The jury listened to her tearful testimony of being brutally raped and beaten, yet they still let the bastard walk. Silently, he stares at the woman's bruised face and promises her he will get justice.

Next to him, his phone buzzes, Mihawk's name flashing on the screen. He closes the file before swiping to answer. "What?"

"Are you with Trafalgar?"

"No. Hey, why the fuck would you send us –"

"Go to Trafalgar. I need to talk to you both. Immediately."

Zoro senses something unsettling in Mihawk's tone. Sliding away from the desk, he swiftly exits his room and raps on Law's door. Takes a moment for Law to answer, standing only in flannel pajama pants. Must've been asleep. It's past midnight, after all.

"What?" he growls, crossing his arms.

"Mihawk's on the phone. Wants to talk to us both."

Law steps aside, allowing Zoro to enter the dark room. Sitting on the edge of Law's bed, he fumbles to find the speaker button. Something he still hasn't mastered.

"You're on speaker."

"Trafalgar?"

"Yes," Law replies, sitting next to Zoro so he can hear.

"Listen both of you. Crime scene tonight, one DB. Male. Electrocuted."

Zoro raises an eyebrow and looks at Law. Even in the darkness, he can tell the other man's face is muddled with confusion.

"Not an accident. Bound to a chair. An execution. Only thing left behind was a typed note, some form of code. Going through cryptanalysis now." Mihawk pauses for a second, tension building in the room. "I've assigned the case to you two. Need Roronoa back here by Saturday at the latest."

"We rode here together," Law retorts, Zoro gripping the phone tightly. The urgency in Mihawk's voice tells him one thing: the sergeant believes this killer will strike again. Soon.

"Find a way home. Rent a car, I don't care. If your case there lasts longer than Saturday, Roronoa comes back without you. That's an order. I'll do what I can here to try to speed things along."

"It's technically Thursday already," Law grumbles to himself, glancing towards the clock.

"I'm emailing you both a photo from the scene." With that, Mihawk hangs up.

Law stands up and switches on the light before sitting at the desk and turning on his computer. They wait silently for everything to load. Bringing up his work inbox, there's already an email waiting from Mihawk. Clicking the attachment, the seconds drag as the hotel's slow Internet loads the image. Gulping, Zoro rises from the bed and leans in close to the computer, his and Law's faces mere inches from the screen.

Roped to a chair is the body of a harshly scorched man, black splotches of burning flesh littering his neck and torso. Hair fried, it looks like he had some form of conduit placed on his head for the current to surge down his body. Face unrecognizable but mouth opened, as if he was pleading. Or screaming. A gruesome death, one of the worst ones they've seen.

Zoro stands as Law closes the screen of his laptop and swirls in his chair to face him. "Brutal, this one."

Zoro agrees. "Won't be a walk in the park."

"Let's hope Mihawk can get us out of here quick."

 

* * *

 

 

Sanji starts his nightly stretches, grasping his chained ankles with his bound hands and bending forward, holding the pose as long as possible. Up again, he stretches his arms high, fingertips brushing against the wall. Moving like this keeps him limber and his blood flowing so his body doesn't go numb. Also helps pass the time. Bend. Stretch. Repeat.

Saturday. It was a Saturday that he was abducted. The restaurant was busy - the special of the day was clam chowder. He knows that for sure. Which means the day he was chained to this fucking wall was Sunday. The next day would be Monday… Shit. He needs a way of keeping this straight.

Halting his stretching, he crawls to his garbage area and picks up an empty water bottle, tearing off the label and dropping it again. Blankets folded neatly against the wall (as neatly as the handcuffs allow), he uses his cleared bed as a map. Torn strip of paper represents Saturday. Another for Sunday, the day he was chained up.

Closing his eyes, he reaches the depths of his memory. That means it should've been Monday night when he broke Green Bastard's nose and almost was choked to death. The soreness in his throat finally dissipated but it had lingered a few days, a painful reminder every time he swallowed. So Tuesday was… Sanji taps his fingers against his thigh.

Tuesday was the day Green Bastard left. Sanji places another marker.

Wednesday was the day he divvied up his rations and created his meal plan. Shifting slightly, he reviews his piles of food, counting to determine how many days he's eaten, adding a scrap of paper for each one. Counting the markers, he realizes it’s Saturday again. It's been a whole week.

About half of his food is gone. Sticking true to his plans, he's even collected a little bit of extra provisions from each meal to create a ninth day. Just in case. At this rate, he has no idea when or if Green Bastard will be back. The man could be leaving him to die down here. Slow torture.

Shaking the thought out of his mind, Sanji scratches his chin, hard calluses feeling good against his itchy stubble. Starting to grow in thick since he hasn't been able to shave. The calluses will begin fading soon, the only activity he uses his hands for is to poke and prod the chains.

His clothes are dirty, grimy. Dark blood stains on the front of his blue button up from Roronoa's nose. If he had any way to uncuff his hands, he'd just take the damn thing off. Smells disgusting. His hair is greasy and unkempt, sticking up from his periodic tugging at the strands. The hose on the wall teases him. There's even a drain in the middle of the room. If he had any sort of freedom, he could wash himself off. At this point, he feels his body is even dirtier than the dank mattress he's been sleeping on.

A shower, a cigarette, a hot meal. Those are the things he needs the most right now.

Green Bastard has been on his mind for days. During Thursday's breakfast, Sanji decided that he would get answers from his captor once he's returned. But he must do it tactfully. Conversationally. Last time he outright demanded anything from the man he ended up on his back with two hands around his neck. He just has to figure out a way to make the bastard talk.

Sanji stands on the mattress and starts his next set, this time stretching over to touch his toes and extend his back, earning himself a satisfying crack. Pushing his palms against the mattress, he holds his position as long as possible, always keeping his feet close together. The chains around his ankles limit the smallest of tasks. Shitty chains. Shitty Roronoa. Shitty –

Thump.

Sanji's heart jumps and he freezes, cocking his head to listen. He thinks he heard something moving in the house. Standing slowly, he lifts his head as far as he can, straining to hear even the smallest of sounds. It was faint but prominent. Someone was up there. He remembers the cat and wonders briefly if maybe she had knocked something over…

Thump thump.

Footsteps. Unmistakable sound of footsteps. Is it Green Bastard? Sanji searches the ceiling, trying to determine the exact location. They're different from Roronoa's normal gait. The pace is off; whoever it is takes slower, more careful steps. Roronoa always walks with purpose. This person seems to be moving more slowly, cautiously. An intruder?

Is it someone who can help him?

"Hello?" Sanji tentatively calls out, his voice raspy from days of neglect. The thumping continues moving across the ceiling and Sanji shuffles to the end of his mattress along with it, eyebrow cocked and ears perked for every little vibration. Quiet for a moment and then a heavy thud, followed by more thumps. Similar to the descent – the sounds Roronoa makes when he's coming to the basement. Has someone found him?

"Is someone there?" Sanji yells out urgently, clenching his hands into fists and staring a hole into the large door. Please let it be somebody that can help him, anyone that can get him out of this fucking cellar. He has no idea how hidden he is, what it looks like above him. Maybe, just maybe, somebody has realized he's been locked away down here.

Rustling outside the door. Sanji's breath hitches, heart pounding deep in his chest, chains pulled as far as they reach towards the door. Locks twist and turn, latches unhinging and the heavy door is swung open, a moment's hesitation before a hulking figure enters the room hauling a massive black bag.

Face obscured with the bag hoisted over shoulder, Sanji starts with the bottom up, noticing black work boots and black jeans. Eyes rise to a thin white t-shirt, thick bicep wrapped around the haul. The man's burden is lowered from his shoulder and laid on the ground, allowing Sanji to finally see the intruder's face. He spots Roronoa's scarred eye, slightly hidden by a black bandana that also covers his green hair.

Green Bastard takes a knee and looms over his package, Sanji gulping at the possibility of what could be inside. It's bulky and from the man's chest heaving and sweat-dripping face, must be heavy. Is it a tool of some sort, a weapon, something that will be used against him? Sanji's eyes widen as he watches the man's tan hand locate a zipper and reveal what's hidden inside the bag.

Black fabric frames the ashen face of a dark-haired man, eyes closed, unconscious. Sanji subconsciously takes a step closer, his taught chain rattling, causing Green Bastard to look towards him and lock eyes. A deadly calm fire burns in his dark pupils and Sanji feels pinned by the glare, consuming him in a wave of heat. Understanding blazes through him, like white lightning striking in a summer storm.

He's brought in his next victim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for your support through comments and kudos. Truly means a lot to me. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!!
> 
> I posted a companion one shot to this fic entitled "Frolic Amongst Friends." It's a Christmas story that exists in this universe, six months prior to the current story timeline. Check it out!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter includes graphic descriptions of violence with reference to blood, murder, and rape.

Roronoa unzips the bag completely, working swiftly to heave the large man out of the carrier and drag him to the metal chair situated in the middle of the room. Sanji observes his actions, unease pooling in his gut as it dawns on him what he's witnessing mirrors how he ended up in the same position. There's expert proficiency in each of Roronoa's moves, the way he postures the man's body in the chair and the dexterity of his fingers when tightly fastening the leather straps that Sanji remembers too vividly digging into his skin. The final band is wrapped around the man's dark crown of hair. Face obscured, Sanji's only able to see the man's right arm and back of his head from where he's situated in the room.

Green Bastard stands away to look over his handiwork, ripping the black bandana from his head to reveal sweaty, matted hair. Tying the cloth around his bicep, he secures the knot with the help of his teeth. Twisting on his heel, he turns his back to both Sanji and the man in the chair, digging into his pocket and pulling out a set of keys. As he opens a cabinet above the workbench, Sanji spots him remove a metal box and a small roll of fabric.

Sanji's view is blocked by Roronoa's sweat-soaked torso, only the tinkling sound of objects being moved around in the metal box is heard in the expansive room. The man finds what he needs, the lid to the box closing shut and moves over, pushing a button on the old cassette player to open it.

"Who is that?" Sanji calls out, caving to the thick tension occupying the space. Green Bastard ignores the question, instead shoving the cassette tape into the player and slamming the lid closed. The sound of banjos fills the room and Sanji's surprised to hear the crooning of an ancient country-western singer flow from the speaker. Even though deep inside he knows, his own two eyes witnessing before him the exact circumstances he was in, Sanji can't keep the next question from rolling off of his tongue, "What are you going to do to him?"

Silence.

Remaining unacknowledged, Sanji leans as far forward as he can, trying to peer around his captor's torso to see what he's doing at his workbench. Feet bound by the chains, he resorts to stabilizing himself with one shoulder against the wall and stretching his neck out, craning his head to catch even the slightest glimpse. Suddenly, the glint of a sharp knife is visible and Sanji's pulse quickens, watching the substantial blade appear behind Roronoa and disappear into his back pocket. Handle still exposed, Sanji recognizes the unique design. A Shun Classic. One of the sharpest knives available on the market. If that's the blade Green Bastard held at his throat, Sanji's lucky he's escaped with only a small incision.

Roronoa moves across the room, shooting Sanji a menacing glare as he passes. Sanji feels the man's intensity all the way down his spine. That was a warning. The juxtaposition of fear for himself and concern for the man in the chair tears at him, rendering him unable to look away from the scene. Keeping his breathing even, his eyes follow Green Bastard as he grabs the hose from the wall and tugs it to the center of the room. Turning the nozzle, he sprays his victim in effort to rouse him.

Sanji spies the man's hand move, gold rings sparkling under the naked light bulb, indicating he's stirring from unconsciousness. Music continues humming in the background; Sanji faintly remembers there was a tune playing when Roronoa woke him up in the same manner. His handcuffs rattle, fists shaking with emotion surging through his veins, screaming just how wrong this situation is.

"Detective Roronoa."

Sanji's jaw drops. The victim in the chair recognizes Green Bastard. So he's not just a cop, but a detective. The man's voice is deep, syllables slurring as though he's drunk or drugged. Roronoa stands before the chair, hose abandoned to the side and arms folded, staring down at the man darkly.

"Why am I here?"

"Should've been locked up for life. Did this to yourself, Crocodile," Roronoa replies smoothly, expression blank, eyes locked on his prey.

The man – Crocodile – is silent for a few moments. Sanji can hear deep breathing, maybe he's letting the situation sink in. Finally, a small chuckle, "I can make you a rich man, Detective. Won't even speak of this incident."

Roronoa frowns at this, a sharp edge in his voice.  "Not a chance."

Sanji's jarred by the laughter barked out by Crocodile. Tugging at his straps, he prods at Roronoa more, "Straight shooter Zoro Roronoa won't take a bribe? You're not as righteous as you think you are, tying me up like this."

Zoro Roronoa. Green Bastard's full name.

"You're the last person to speak of righteousness." Roronoa's voice is biting, resentment stinging with his words. "There's no honor in what you did."

"What I was accused of doing," Crocodile quickly corrects, "I'm an innocent man. You and Trafalgar pushed that whore against me."

Sanji narrows his eyes in confusion, trying to understand what their vague conversation refers to. Roronoa lowers his arms to his sides, his face flashing a bloodthirsty smirk as he takes a step closer to the chair. His left hand disappears behind his back, towards the pocket that holds his weapon. Sirens go off in Sanji's head, his instincts burning, recognizing Green Bastard is about to take this person's life.

"What are you doing?" Sanji's voice is shrill, desperate to save a complete stranger. Taking a man's life like this is wrong. If Crocodile is guilty of a crime, the courts should handle it. Not Green Bastard's sick perversion of justice. Roronoa's hand freezes and the tension in the room shifts, Sanji spotting Crocodile's head twitch, trying to turn and focus on his voice.

"Who was that? Is that Trafalgar, he in on this too?" he demands, jerking violently at his bindings. "Untie me!"

The interruption has caused a panic in Crocodile, Roronoa's true intent now crystal clear and ready to execute. The dark-haired man begins forcefully shaking the chair, desperately attempting to pull at his bindings. Sanji watches, shocked to see that despite the man's hulking frame, all of his struggling is in vain. The chair remains still and the straps continue to weather, causing the man to thrash more wildly.

"Don't do this," Sanji pleads, pulling as hard as he can on his chains, stumbling slightly with the reminder that they're extended as far as allowed. In an instant, Roronoa's striding towards him, outrage on his face. Sanji feels a strong hand shoving him and he staggers, falling back onto the mattress. Roronoa is over him, wildly yanking the black bandana off of his bicep and forcing it in Sanji's mouth, tying it around his head in a tight knot. Sanji tastes the salty fabric tugging against the sides of his mouth making it difficult to speak.

"Stay out of it," Green Bastard threatens, jabbing Sanji sharply in the chest with a finger.

He rises up and turns back to the chair, hand already reaching to the knife in his pocket. Sanji lunges towards him, attempting to beat him to the weapon but the man quickly dodges, delivering a hard-booted kicked to Sanji's gut. Sanji falls to the ground, wind completely knocked out of him and stares in horror as Green Bastard positions himself behind his victim.

The bandana around his mouth muffles his attempts to scream out for Roronoa to stop. Hastily, Sanji hauls himself off the floor and onto his knees, twisting his bound arms trying to untie the knot around his head. Fingers working the cloth hurriedly, grunts escape his own throat as Green Bastard fists a handful of Crocodile's black hair and reaches around with the knife. The man shakes in the chair violently, pleas for his life falling on deaf ears. Sanji feels the knot loosen and tears at it savagely, shuffling his knees closer to the chair, the chain at his feet rattling at his rebellion.

"Zoro!" he roars, spitting the bandana onto the ground, "Stop!"

Roronoa's elbow jerks, Crocodile's cries turning into gurgles, blood visibly splattering from where Sanji's seated. Green Bastard pulls back his knife, thick lines of crimson dropping off the edge and onto the cement floor. Sanji's mouth agape, he stares as his murderous captor releases his hold on Crocodile's hair and uses the front of his shirt to wipe off the blade.

Zoro's heart pounds with adrenaline. Fucking bastard deserved it. All the way to the end he tried to place blame on others for his crimes. Zoro sets his knife reverently on his workbench before retrieving the hose he earlier tossed aside, turning the nozzle to full power. He sprays the blood towards the drain under the chair before it has the chance to stain the ground too harshly.

Circling the chair he spots Sanji in the same position, on his knees in front of his mattress, hands balled into fists and staring at Crocodile's body in a daze. Zoro flicks the stream of water towards him, splashing his knees to get his attention. Sanji's tears his gaze away from the scene and looks up at him, his deep blue eyes a storm of fear and sadness. Zoro's seen that look plenty of times on the job from bystanders and victims who have seen someone killed for the first time. Doesn't make sense for Sanji. He's a killer.

Storing that unsettling feeling for later, Zoro sighs and turns off the hose, throwing it down for later use. He removes the strap from Crocodile's skull, causing his head to fall forward limply. Sanji keeps his eye on every action but stays in the same position, unmoving and unwavering.

Kicking off his blood-tread boots and removing his t-shirt, Zoro opens the door to the cellar and climbs up to his bedroom. Down the hall, he crosses his empty living room to the large brick fireplace against the wall and peeks his head inside, fumbling to find his lift rod and open the chimney. Spotting his black duffle abandoned on the couch, he swings it over his shoulder and returns to the bedroom. Tossing the bag on the bed, he digs through it, locating what he needs. Rummaging through his drawers, he picks out a few more necessities before descending back to the cellar.

Dumping his load onto the workbench, he locates the manila folder that has Crocodile's copied file enclosed. As he twists towards Crocodile's dead body, he smirks to himself. Case closed. Tapping the file against his palm, his eye lands on Sanji.

Zoro approaches the blond man and squats in front of him so they're eye level. Sanji returns his look silently, searching his face. Zoro notices the subtle stench of body odor and the cook's greasy hair. Must've built up during his time down here. Gripping the file in his hand tighter, he nods his head towards the mattress and tosses the folder on top. Rising up, he makes his way to the furnace on the other opposite wall, corners of his mouth turning up as he hears Sanji's chains shift as he moves back to the mattress.

The furnace is large, taking up most of the wall. It was the hardest piece of customization in his house. Originally a wood furnace, he installed gas lines to it and altered the interior to allow for quicker, stronger heating. Took almost a year to perfect. Now it's the most useful tool he has in his trade. There are only so many ways to get rid of a body unnoticed.

Zoro opens the furnace door and piles in wood, coal, and newspaper from his stack of fodder. Closing it back, he twists the gas knobs, allowing a couple seconds to pass before lighting the pilot. The flames ignite and it doesn't take long for warm heat to start permeating the area. Burning is safest; he only does it at night, completely unnoticed. The furnace stack is attached to his upstairs fireplace's chimney, hidden from the naked eye. The biggest inconvenience is the inferno-like temperature, making the basement truly seem like a level of Hell.

Leaving the furnace to heat up to optimum condition, Zoro glances at Sanji and finds him sitting on the mattress, back against the wall and case file opened in his lap. His head is bowed, shuffling through the notes and pictures. Zoro opens one of his cabinets and locates a bone saw and goggles, setting them carefully on the ground. Tugging the straps from the body's limbs, he lays the limp form next to the tools. Pulling the goggles over his head, he situates them carefully over his eyes before leaning over the body. Saw perched, he starts his task.

The room has heated several degrees, the furnace's fire raging brightly by the time he's finished the job. Muscles pulsing, he removes the goggles and wipes the sweat from his eyes. Stopping only to change the tape on his cassette player, Zoro begins the disposal. One by one, the parts are deposited into the dancing flames.

It's well into the early hours of the morning by the time the body is completely gone. Zoro turns off the gas and allows the burning embers start to cool down. Moving across the room, he picks up his bloodied t-shirt from the floor, needing to burn the rest of the evidence. Stopping by Sanji's mattress, he motions to the closed file sitting on his lap. It must be destroyed with everything else. Sanji lifts the folder and places it in Zoro's outstretched hand but keeps a firm grip, not allowing Zoro to pull away just yet.

"He deserved it."

Firelight dances across his face, features twisted in disgust. Fury emanates him, posture tense. Eyes boring into Zoro, the earlier storm is gone, replaced with smoldering rage scorching fiercer than the dancing flames that consumed Crocodile. Zoro holds the glare unyielding, interest piqued in the change of attitude. For a brief second, he sees himself in the man's livid expression. Years of experience have hardened his approach but that same intense passion burns inside.

Sanji lets go of the file, receiving a knowing nod from Roronoa before he stalks off, returning to the fire and tossing his shirt and the paperwork into the flames. Closing his eyes, he tries to calm the swirling and stirring in his mind, an unfettered frenzy of emotion. What he read in the case notes was inhumane, the way that animal treated those women. Fucking sick bastard.

Sweat drips down his body, the cellar blazing from the heat of the furnace. If he didn't feel utterly disgusting before, he surely does now. Green Bastard is also pouring sweat; Sanji can see the large droplets rolling down his back from where he's positioned. Luckily it's starting to cool off.

The man moves to an open cabinet and pulls out a bucket of bleach and a rag, pouring the liquid over the metal chair and the cement below. The strong smell hits Sanji's nostrils fiercely, causing his eyes to water. Reminds him of when he first woke up in the cellar. Green Bastard begins his scrubbing, making sure any drop of blood is removed from the flooring and sprayed down the drain with his hose. Old folk music continues playing in the background, Roronoa periodically humming along as he works.

Cleaning finished, his captor sits back on the wet ground and inspects his work. Sanji feels slightly impressed at the exhaustive measures; everything he's done seems expertly planned and executed, actions of a man who knows what he's doing and has done so many times before. It's now evident that Sanji was wrong – Green Bastard isn't a shitty killer. He just can't kill him.

Sanji's thoughts are interrupted by Zoro kicking off his jeans, stripping down to just black boxer briefs. Unsure of what he's about to do, Sanji's body tenses, gripping his thighs tightly as he observes the man's actions. After depositing his removed clothing into the smoldering flames, Roronoa ducks into the tiny closet bathroom. A moment later, he returns to the main room gripping the small bar of soap from the sink's edge. Sanji's used it plenty of times to wash his hands.

Zoro wets the soap with the hose and lathers it, scrubbing at his blood stained skin. Even his thighs are tinged red from the material of his pants being soaked. Sanji turns his head to give him some privacy, jealousy stinging deep inside. What he would give to be able to rinse off.

The sound of a cabinet opening signals the mini-shower is over. Glancing back to Roronoa, Sanji spots him drying off with a towel, one of the many doors of his workbench open. He's got fucking everything stored in there. The man searches through a pile of clothes he brought down earlier, dressing in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Sanji notices there's still a couple items left behind after the man dresses.

Sanji's eyes dart from the clothing back to Roronoa as he picks up his keys from the counter. He starts gathering the tools he has strewn across the bench and locking them away in their designated locations. The tape is removed from the cassette player and the box is placed back in its home. The roll of knives is the only thing left next to the pile of clothes and a second towel. Green Bastard tucks the one he used earlier back into position but removes another before placing the tools away and locking the cabinet.

"Your turn."

"What do you mean 'my turn?'" Sanji questions nervously. His mind briefly flashes to the possibility of being wrong and it’s now time for his fate.

Green Bastard heads his way, springing open the knife of his black switchblade. Sanji presses his back harder against the wall feeling cornered and wary of the man's intent.

Arriving at the mattress, Roronoa seems to recognize the worry in his face and rolls his eye, "You fucking reek."

Dumbfounded, Sanji glances from Zoro's face to the hose still lying in the floor. Does this mean he's being allowed to rinse off?

The man huffs, agitated at Sanji's hesitation, "Keep stinking up the place, then. Doesn't matter to me."

"No, wait –" Sanji blurts, not wanting to lose this opportunity, "You'll let me clean up?"

Zoro nods, switchblade still in hand and pointed at Sanji, "Any funny business and you're gutted."

Sanji agrees immediately. Truth be told, he just watched the psycho chop a man into pieces and burn the body. Even if it was warranted, he doesn't intend on pissing him off right now. Not while the fire is still crackling.

The man scratches the back of his head, knife bobbing up and down behind his green hair with the action. His dark eye looks between the chains on Sanji's ankles and the cuffs around his wrist, as though he's figuring out his plan of action. Kneeling down on the side of the mattress next to Sanji, he leans in with the knife pointed directly at Sanji's torso.

Sanji instinctually tries to pull away, the knife blade coming right for his chest. Raising an eyebrow, he questions, "What are you doing?"

"Just hold still," Zoro replies, grabbing Sanji's bicep. He jerks Sanji's body to the side and Sanji can feel the tip of the knife tickling the back of his neck. In one swift movement, the knife cuts at the collar and slides down his back to the bottom of his shirt. Roronoa works his blade along the sleeves, severing seams in order to pull the material off quickly. Tossing the crumpled, torn shirt aside, Roronoa stands again.

Sanji's nose twitches, his stench even worse without his shirt to cover it. He watches as Zoro unlocks the end of his chain from the wall, an action he's done many times to let Sanji shuffle over to the bathroom. Sanji rises and follows the man slowly to the center of the room. The end of his chain is snapped to the leg of the chair, locking him in place.

Zoro stands before him and grabs the waist of his pants, dragging the blade down the back and cutting them off, leaving Sanji standing in only his underwear. Bending down to pick up the hose, he twists the nozzle and flicks the stream towards Sanji's thighs, "Leave those on if you want."

Sanji chews his bottom lip. While the idea of standing naked and chained in front of his captor isn't the most appealing, his boxers are disgusting. Decision made, he simply replies, "Cut them off."

Roronoa complies and with a couple flicks of his wrist, the boxers are off and Sanji finds himself completely naked. He watches Zoro for a reaction, but there is none. He busies himself with gathering Sanji's destroyed clothing and dropping them into a pile. Sanji leans down and picks up the earlier abandoned soap from the seat of the chair and starts to lather in his hand.

Zoro closes his switchblade and pockets it, stepping away from Sanji. Sanji notices the man keeps his steely eye locked on the back wall and aims the hose in his general direction, allowing Sanji to treat it more like a shower than a hose down. The water is cold but the cool temperature is welcome in the burning heat of the cellar. Although the cuffs are restricting, Sanji's flexible enough to maneuver his hands to reach all the important places. Bowing slightly, he soaks his hair and scrubs hard at his scalp with the soap, trying to remove all the dirt and grime that's accumulated in the blond strands.

Rinsing his hair of the dirt and soap, Sanji sighs in contentment, glad to feel refreshed. The only issue is his back, his hands unable to reach that side of his body due to their confinement. Green Bastard has been surprisingly couth throughout the whole shower so Sanji tries his luck in asking for help.

"Can you spray my back?"

The man's gaze shifts, dark stare meeting Sanji's. Shrugging, he waits for Sanji to spin around. Sanji's body tenses as the cold stream hits his shoulders and quickly makes its way down to the backs of his shins. He's relieved the water doesn't linger anywhere unsavory. The stream is removed completely, shower time over. He covers his genitals and turns back to Green Bastard but is met with a towel smacking him in the face.

Scrambling to keep the dry towel from falling on the wet concrete, he glares at where Zoro stood but finds he's moved to pick up Sanji's destroyed clothing and deposit them into the furnace. Sanji begins drying his body, starting with his hair and working his way down, again finding himself limited to not being able to reach his back. Zoro is at the other wall now, working on recoiling the hose.

Having dried as much as he can, Sanji holds the towel in front of his waist and glances at the pile of clothes sitting on the workbench. How is he going to get dressed if Green Bastard has him chained? Zoro finishes with the hose and returns to him, picking up the pile of clothes in question. A t-shirt is slung over his shoulder, grey sweats remaining in his left hand.

He motions for the towel and Sanji gives it to him, surprised when the man grabs his arm and jerks him to turn. His movements are rough as he swiftly dries Sanji's back before tossing the towel aside. When Sanji's spun around again, Zoro's got his keys in hand and is bending down, unlocking his ankle cuffs. The man retains a strong hold on his ankle and yanks his foot up, shoving it into the leg hole of the pair of sweatpants.

"What the fuck?" Sanji stabilizes himself by grabbing onto the closest thing – Green Bastard's head – in order to not fall over.

As soon as one foot is through the pant leg, Zoro grabs the other ankle and does the same. Both feet in, he grips the waist of the pants and shoves them up towards Sanji's hands before promptly relocking the ankle cuffs. Sanji clambers to pull the pants up completely, covering his nakedness as fast as he can.

Standing again, Zoro unlocks Sanji's handcuffs and starts the same kind of manhandling, grappling to put Sanji's arms through the holes as forcefully as possible.

"I can dress myself," Sanji sputters, trying to push Green Bastard and takeover.

"You broke my nose. Won't get another chance." Zoro slaps Sanji's hands away and continues his assault, getting both arms in and tugging the neck hole over Sanji's head. The handcuffs are locked back on his wrists before Sanji can get his damp hair out of his eyes.

Zoro unchains him from the chair, leading the way back to the mattress. Sanji shuffles behind, settling onto the bed once the chain is reattached to the wall. The clothes he was dressed in are a little baggy, especially the t-shirt, but they're soft and clean, much better than the rags that were removed. The adrenaline of the night has faded and he realizes he's exhausted, the emotional turmoil finally weighing on him. Lying back onto the pillows, he briefly watches Zoro check on the coals in the furnace before his eyes turn heavy, lulling him into a sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

"How was the trip?"

Usopp's especially jovial for a Monday morning, seated at the break room table eating his oatmeal out of a blue mug.

Zoro shrugs as he takes the chair opposite of him, unpeeling the lid off of his yogurt, "Useless. Dunno why Mihawk sent us there."

Usopp lifts an eyebrow as he takes another bite of his breakfast, "I heard Law tell Luffy the same thing. What's his deal?"

"Who knows," Zoro responds, unfolding his newspaper.

Usopp's voice lowers to a whisper, eyes glued on the door, "I heard about your electrocution victim. Crazy shit."

Zoro grunts from behind his newspaper. He and Law got in on Saturday afternoon, their court case ending that morning. The judge found Wapol guilty; the grin on Sheriff Dalton's face when they carted the Mayor out in handcuffs was priceless. Zoro couldn't blame him, it's always a good day when justice prevails. He and Law checked out of their hotel almost immediately and drove straight to the office, talking with the Sergeant for three hours about the new case.

"Yeah. Crazy."

A companionable silence falls upon them as they both finish their breakfasts, Usopp tapping on his cell phone and Zoro flipping through the pages of the newspaper. No references to missing persons cases. At least, not for Crocodile or a certain blond chef.

Zoro folds up the paper and checks the clock on the wall. Right on cue, Law walks in, red thermos on hand. He doesn't acknowledge either of them as he goes through his routine of adding creamer to his coffee. Satisfied sigh after the first taste and he turns to head back into the hall.

Zoro leaves the room with a promise to visit Usopp later and follows Law to their office. Mihawk is waiting for them when they enter, standing in the middle of the room with some paperwork in hand. Law perches on his chair, setting his thermos on his desk. Zoro lowers himself into his seat, curious as to what their Sergeant holds.

"Welcome back to work, gentlemen," Mihawk greets them, looking up from the papers and handing each of them a copy. Zoro scans the document quickly, eye narrowing at the strange text on the middle of the page.

"Knowing this, that the law is not made for a righteous man," Mihawk reads aloud, "but for the lawless and disobedient, for the ungodly and for sinners, for unholy and profane, for murderers of fathers and murderers of mothers, for manslayers."

The room is silent, the words hanging heavy in the air.

"First Timothy," Zoro mumbles, laying the document on his desk. A fucking Bible verse.

Mihawk's heavy stare falls on him, "Yes, it is. This is what our perp wrote in his coded letter."

Zoro catches a perplexed look from Law, his eyes darting away as soon as they meet Zoro's.

"What do you think it means?" Law asks, crossing his legs and lowering his head.

"That's what we must determine. There was no evidence left at this scene, no prints, no DNA. This guy is either incredibly lucky or a true pro," Mihawk answers, arms behind his back and pacing the room. He stops and clicks his heels. "You both must remain available at all times. I will have Lucci assist on this case as much as he can but you two are responsible."

As soon as Mihawk has left the room, Law mutters, "No more social life."

"Didn't have one anyway," Zoro deadpans, reading over the message once again.

Few hours later and Zoro wanders to the opposite side of the building to visit Usopp, an entire wing devoted to the records management area. Mostly case files, their city budget hasn't allowed for the full transition to electronic storage yet. Hundreds of folders litter the shelves, orderly thanks to Usopp. A large counter situates in front of the record room, a sign-out form lying on the counter for proper reporting.

Usopp's relaxed in his chair, feet up on his desk when Zoro approaches, tapping the screen of his phone energetically. Probably playing a game. Leaning over the counter, Zoro watches him for a moment before letting out a low whistle, causing the other man to jump out of his seat and shove his phone into his pocket.

"God, you scared me." Usopp visibly relaxes, standing to open the restricted access door. Only a limited number of people are granted permission to the file area, anyone else has to be escorted. "Thought you were one of the big bosses."

"Need to stay more alert," Zoro chides, slipping into the door and leaning against Usopp's desk. An open file catches his eye, Zoro glancing down and recognizing a case he and Law worked on last year. "Some light reading?"

"Gets so boring down here," Usopp complains, sitting back into his chair and tugging his phone out of his pocket. "Did you get Luffy's snap?"

That stupid app. Luffy's obsessed, constantly taking pictures and videos of himself and anyone else close by. Zoro never opens the damn thing; he only downloaded it to get Luffy to stop bugging him.

"Sure I did but I ain't watching it."

Usopp clicks through his phone before holding it up, screen facing Zoro. A short video plays of Luffy taking out a Groggy burger in about three bites. It's actually kind of impressive.

"Oh wait, wrong one." Usopp retracts the phone and taps the screen a few more times. Zoro leans over his shoulder, watching the flash of pictures and videos cycle rapidly before Usopp settles on a different one. It's Luffy again, this time playing with a puppy at what looks to be an animal shelter. The little black dog licks his face repeatedly, mouth grinning wide the whole time. Zoro snickers as he reads the caption on the video.

Traffy's BIG SURPRISE.

 

* * *

 

 

Sanji stares at the furnace across the room, dark and cold as it sleeps. No one would ever guess that just two nights ago the flames raged and consumed the body of another man. Sanji himself wouldn't have ever believed it had he not witnessed the disposal with his own two eyes. Even more concerning, he finds himself understanding that horrible man's demise.

It makes him sick to remember the things he read in the case file, graphic descriptions of the horrors uncovered at the police scene. The full testimony of a broken woman who was found beaten and raped by that bastard Crocodile. Two others dead, autopsy findings showing they suffered similar fate, only they didn't survive to tell their sides of the story.

The thick file was stuffed with court documents full of legal jargon and official reports. Sanji mostly understood the gist, summons and warrants. A written plea, the arrest report. Crime scene photographs and testimonials. Buried beneath was an upsetting discovery, a piece of paper crumpled as though it was held in a too tight grip. Across the official report was the outline of a jury decision to acquit the man for his sins. A 'not guilty' clearance back into the world to harm others.

Rolling from his side to his back, Sanji stares at the ceiling, inhaling a sharp breath. The clothes he was dressed in still have a distinct smell, a delicate mix of laundry detergent and cologne. The black t-shirt is soft and worn, feels like an old favorite hand-me-down. There's a small hole in the armpit, likely from overuse. The sweatpants are baggy on him; even with the drawstring cinched as tight as possible they still fall low on his hips when he moves.

The method behind Green Bastard's madness makes more sense now. It's a strange feeling but Sanji's almost relieved to know that his captor had true motive with the Crocodile case. But does he kill innocent people too? Sanji's innocent, he knows that much for sure, but he's still down here locked up like a prisoner.

That's just the thing - he's locked up. Zoro showed no hesitation in slitting that slimy bastard's throat. It was executed flawlessly. The moment Crocodile was hauled into the cellar his fate was sealed. Green Bastard was in complete control of the situation, even when Sanji got involved. Having spent the last two days replaying the events in his head again and again, every logical angle points to the same conclusion: Sanji must only be alive because Zoro's got an inkling of doubt regarding his guilt.

Sanji certainly doesn't condone murder, but if anyone deserves to be forcibly removed from this planet, it's motherfuckers like Crocodile who get away with raping and murdering innocent women. Sanji would normally say let the court systems run their course but that obviously failed in this specific case. Zoro's words from their first encounter play in the back of his mind, "Do you think I'd do this without proof? I'm not a fucking murderer."

The thought is comforting; Sanji knows he's innocent and if any part of Zoro feels the same, there's hope in getting out of here alive. The problem is how can he convince his captor to let him go? Sanji frowns, brows knitted together. The case file for Crocodile was as thick as a book, every detail screaming guilty. Zoro went through the effort of capturing Sanji and dragging him into the cellar. He stated he has some kind of proof. Sanji's gut twists with unease, causing him to sit up and hold his head in his hands, tugging at the roots of his blond strands. How can there be evidence supporting a crime he didn't commit?

Movement rattles above, soft thumps indicating Green Bastard's finally home. The man works such weird hours – it's hard to predict. Sanji chews his bottom lip, wishing for the hundredth time he had some form of clock.

Lifting his head from his hands, he cracks his neck, patting his hair down from the earlier assault. It's getting long in the back, he had a hair appointment scheduled for last Wednesday. The barber's probably annoyed that he didn't show up.

Sanji glares up to the ceiling above. Green Bastard's sure taking his sweet time coming down here. He needs to take a piss. The bucket was cleaned up yesterday and although it was absolutely disgusting, Sanji can't argue with its convenience.

Standing, he bends to crack his back before straightening out, smoothing his t-shirt. A small tug to get the sweatpants pulled up completely, uncovering the chains at his ankles. The metal agitates his skin making him wish he had some socks. The ones he wore previously were discarded with the rest of his clothing.

Rolling his neck, he gives a little hair flip to get his long fringe out of his face. He stares squarely at the door as he waits for Zoro to enter. The sounds of footsteps indicate he should be arriving any moment. The locks begin to unlatch and Sanji's bladder starts to complain, the promise of relief just on the other side of the door. Much to his chagrin, the man stops in the midst of his fumbling and Sanji can hear the sound of his rumbling voice, as though he's talking to someone.

Sanji raises a curious brow, straining to eavesdrop on what Green Bastard might be saying. The door suddenly swings open, the man sauntering in with a bag over shoulder and a plastic sack in hand. He closes the entryway with his foot immediately, as though he's trying to keep something out.

Sanji hears him mutter something about a 'damn cat' as he sets his load down on the workbench counter, moving to grab the wooden stool form the corner and situating it in front of his normal station, to the left of the cassette player.

"Hey, can we go ahead to the bathroom? Really have to go here," Sanji calls over, shuffling from foot to foot, his urge to urinate stronger than he thought.

The man doesn't turn from where he stands, keeping his back to Sanji. His movements do pause, however, thumb jabbing over his shoulder in the direction of the chair situated in the middle of the room.

"Drain's right there."

Sanji's eyes widen in disbelief, glancing from Green Bastard to the drain he's referencing. There's no fucking way he'd try to drop his pants and piss into that, not with a perfectly good bathroom on the opposite wall. Face twisting to a mix of disgust and annoyance, Sanji huffs, "There's literally a toilet right over there. Do you seriously want to have to rinse piss off the cement?"

Zoro stops shuffling through his work bag, spinning to face Sanji. He's bouncing slightly on his mattress, expression agitated. He has a sound point, even if he's being lippy about it. "Don't get your panties in a wad," Zoro sneers, strolling to unhook the chain from the wall, "Didn't realize you were about to piss your pants."

Sanji follows behind Green Bastard, smiling to himself at his small triumph. He goes through the motions of relieving himself quickly, making sure to scrub his hands well since it should be dinnertime. Once he's locked back into place, he decides to dare another request from the Green Bastard, willing to take the hit if the man becomes miffed.

"What time is it?"

Sanji notices the bruising around Zoro's eyes and nose has faded to yellowish blotches, a sign that his broken nose is healing well.

"Dunno. Does it matter?" Green Bastard dismisses, much to Sanji's disappointment.

Zoro returns to his workbench, this time reaching for the sack and removing two Styrofoam take out containers and some plastic cutlery. Sanji perks up at the sight, his mouth salivating at the thought of a hot meal. Leaving one on the counter for himself, Zoro brings him the other with a cold bottle of water.

Sanji opens the lid of the container immediately, finding an order of Chinese food. The bottom of the Styrofoam warms his lap, steam rising from the meal. Never before would he have thought an order of beef and broccoli with white rice would look like such a gift. The first bite is exceptional; he savors it on his palate, chewing slowly.

Zoro settles on the wooden stool, opening his laptop and booting it up before starting his own dinner. He smirks as he hears a satisfied grunt from behind him. Sanji's apparently enjoying his meal. Zoro digs into his own food and eats zealously. The screen of his computer requests his password and he stops to type it in before twisting on his stool to face Sanji.

Sanji watches Zoro as he eats, surprised when the man turns to look his way. A laptop is set up behind him, a stack of papers on the other side. Normally his visits are short, tonight it seems as though he means to stay. Zoro opens his mouth as if he's going to speak but is interrupted by the sound of scratching on the other side of the door. Sanji's eyes follow Zoro as he stands from the stool and opens the door, the small black and white cat entering the room.

She rubs against Zoro's legs before hopping up onto the counter, laying right on the cassette player and staring directly at Sanji. Zoro gives her a small pat on the head before returning to his seat, back once again turned to Sanji.

Sighing as he finishes his meal, Sanji sets the trash aside and observes in silence as Zoro rustles through papers, organizing documents across the workbench. It seems work related, the tan folder giving it away. It's thin, not very much paperwork inside. Maybe it's a new case.

Zoro feels Sanji's gaze on him, watching him as he moves. His mind returns to Saturday during the Crocodile kill, the look in Sanji's eyes when he witnessed the man die. Though he could just be a good actor, the storm of emotion Zoro saw is hard to imitate. Deep in his gut he knows that was a true reaction from the other man, one that's left him unsettled and puzzled. He's reviewed the surveillance footage three times since that incident, scrutinizing every detail of Sanji's case to figure out where he may have went wrong. He's left teetering on the edge, unable to kill a potentially innocent man but unwilling to cut loose a plausible murderer. The blood would be on Zoro's hands either way. He's treading water, trying to determine whether it's better to sink or swim.

The copies from his current case are organized in front of him, the pictures of the electrocution victim stacked neatly to the side. He doesn't want to get ahead of himself but the violent method of kill and preachy, coded letter screams the MO of a serial killer. It's only a matter of time before another body is found.

Zoro reads the decoded message once again, squinting at the words. Fucking religious zealots, always out for their own agendas. Opening up his work email, his eyes shift to the corner of the screen, reading the time.

Without turning his head, he speaks just loud enough for Sanji to hear, "9:32."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aevium has joined on to help write Sanji in this chapter. i hope y'all enjoy.

The past few days have been a strange experience, a semblance of routine falling between Sanji and his captor.  Their morning ritual stays the same as always but the last three nights have been spent with Zoro coming down to the cellar, delivering dinner and working at his bench silently until the early hours of the morning.  Sanji often falls asleep before the man takes his leave, papers still strewn across the counter when he wakes.

If his calculations are correct, it’s been two weeks since he was chained up in the cellar.  Oddly enough, ever since the event with Zoro’s latest kill, he finds himself less on edge and more overcome with boredom, spending most of his time sleeping.  Every activity is stretched as slow as possible, filling up his empty slots of time as much as he can. In his waking hours, he’s left to his thoughts, most notably pondering about his current predicament. Crocodile had proved that if Zoro could kill him, he would have done it the moment he’d awoken strapped to that chair.  It’s strange to say, but he can rest a bit more easy with that knowledge in the back of his mind, leaving his focus on getting through the lonely days and trying to crack the code that is his strange captor Zoro. 

He’s turned the moment of their first meeting upside down and scrutinized it countless times, trying to reflect every detail for any foreshadowing of his fate.  His mind comes up short, finding himself only able to recall their loose conversation and the way the man’s white button-up shirt looked against his tan skin. In an interesting, albeit fucked-up way, Sanji consciously remembers being attracted to Green Bastard during the seemingly innocent conversation.  

There’s been movement from above for the last hour coming from a different area of the house.  It’s rhythmic, something he can’t place. He doesn’t seem to recall ever hearing it before, despite the structured cadence.  Seems a little early for Zoro to be home already. Maybe his hours are different on Fridays.

Upstairs Zoro continues his lifting in the extra bedroom he turned into a weight room.  Mihawk gave him and Law the approval to start their weekend a couple hours early since they’ve been putting in so much overtime at the office lately.  He’s never truly off duty though. One phone call is all it takes to summon them immediately to the office or a crime scene.

Sweat dripping off his brow, he sets his weight bar down and uses the towel slung over his bare shoulder to wipe his face.  Stomach growling, he decides it’s about time to get some grub. No use in showering, he’ll probably come back to train some more.  Making his way into the kitchen, he rifles through the cabinets looking for something to munch on. Never been much of a cook, most of his meals are take-out or prepackaged foods. 

Fingers drumming the wood cupboard door, he settles on a cup of ramen noodles.  Grabbing an extra, he closes the cabinet and prepares the quick dinner. Oni attacks his shoestring as he peers into the fridge, vacant of anything to drink except a half gallon of milk and some beer.  Shrugging, he pulls out a brown bottle. He’ll go grocery shopping this weekend. 

Tucking the unopened beer into the pocket of his gym shorts, he carries both steaming cups of noodles down the hall.  He sets them on his dresser as he opens the hidden trapdoor to the basement below. Carefully, he lowers himself to the small landing as he balances the two dinners and unlocks the heavy door, entering the room.  Sanji lifts his head up in acknowledgment from where he sits on the mattress.

Zoro places his meal and beer by his paperwork and delivers Sanji’s, spying the man eyeing his chest scar curiously.  Seems like he wants to ask about it so Zoro shoves the food at him as a quick distraction. “Here.”

Sanji takes the styrofoam cup swiftly, careful not to spill any of the broth onto his mattress.  Instinctually, his surprised face shifts into a glare and he opens his mouth to make a comment but Green Bastard’s already turning away, stalking back to the stool that’s now kept perpetually positioned at the workbench.

Sanji notices the small cat poke her head into the cellar as he takes a tentative sip from his meal, testing the temperature on his lips.  It’s the second day in a row he’s had to eat this synthetic shit but at least it’s food. He wishes Zoro would start bringing down something worthy of being called a meal soon, but he’s not getting his hopes up. It makes Sanji miss the kitchen woefully. 

The cat hasn’t come close to his mattress since the first time Sanji saw her before Zoro went out of town.  When she makes an appearance, she spends her time hanging around Zoro at the workbench or sometimes she even crawls into his lap.  It still boggles Sanji to see the same man who slit another human being’s throat being so careful and soft with the little creature. 

Today she seems to be on a hunt around the room, sniffing the nooks and crannies of each corner and object.  Sanji keeps a fascinated eye on her stalking as Zoro shuffles through his paperwork completely unnoticing. A phone rings above them, Green Bastard pauses in his work and sighs, making his way out the door and thumping to the level above. 

Sanji focuses his attention back on to finishing his noodles, setting the trash at the foot of his bed once the cup is empty.  He cranes to try to hear any bits of conversation from above since Zoro left the door ajar but there’s no such luck. The cat must’ve run out of the room too, as she’s no longer in sight.

Sanji hears Zoro’s steps returning but is surprised that all he sees is a tan arm reach in and grab the door, pulling it shut.  The empty cup of noodles and beer bottle remain on the workbench. Sanji listens the movement above him for a few minutes and then it goes quiet.  Must’ve been in a hurry, wherever he went.

Bored once again, Sanji lets out an agitated huff.  Couldn’t he have a book or something to occupy the time?  Picking at a frayed string from his t-shirt, he thinks about the laundry he has the hamper in his room, the rotting food in his fridge, the bills that are piling up in his mailbox.  The restaurant. The  _ fucking _ restaurant.

The sound of a small crash jars him from his thoughts causing him to spin his head towards the bathroom entrance.  Oni’s face peers out from around the doorframe, eye locking on Sanji’s immediately. She must’ve been hiding when Zoro had to go upstairs and got left down here.  Sanji’s eyes widen at his new distraction, twisting himself on the mattress so he’s facing her direction.

“Come on, Oni,” he beckons softly, extending his fingers with promise of petting.  She motions her head curiously and takes a few tentative steps forward. A couple more tender calls and she bounds towards him, stopping when she reaches the side of the mattress.  Slowly, Sanji moves his hand to the silky fur on her head and gives it a gentle stroke.

 

* * *

 

“What’s going on?”

“So sad.  She’s a single mother.”

“What  _ happened _ ?”

“Who will take care of the kids?”

Zoro pushes his way past the swarm of busybodies crowding outside of the small suburban home.  Police tape and cruisers litter the scene, cops on their radios trying to control the chaos. An ambulance sits outside empty. 

As soon as he crosses the threshold into the living room, his nostrils sting harshly with the smell of burnt hair and flesh.  Lieutenant Smoker is there, the ever-present cigar missing from his mouth to preserve the crime scene. Sergeant Tashigi stands at his side; her ranking may be the same as Mihawk’s but she spends her time assisting the Lieutenant rather than managing the department.  The Hawk completes the huddle, arms crossed and deep in conversation. Always the observant one, he spots Zoro immediately and beckons him over with a stern face.

“We must be diligent with this one,” Smoker mutters in a low voice, grey eyes penetrating Mihawk.  “Word can’t get out that we have a possible serial killer on our hands.”

Mihawk nods in agreement, “I’ve got Roronoa as lead, Trafalgar and the others with him every step of the way.”

The Lieutenant’s steely gaze shifts to connect with Zoro’s dark eye, analyzing him closely.  “This could be the biggest case of your life, kid. We can’t let this fucker roam for long.”

“Understood.”  

Smoker seems to accept the resolve of his impenetrable stare, giving a sharp nod before he turns to Tashigi.  “Let’s go. Nowhere close to dealing with the press on this one.”

Zoro stands at Mihawk’s silently side as they watch the Lieutenant depart.  As soon as the hulking frame is out of the doorway, he spies Law slide in, catching Zoro’s eye with a questioning look.

“Is it another electrocution?” 

“Yes,” Mihawk answers on his behalf, gesturing to a wooden door.  “You two better take a look. I must warn you, it’s gruesome, even by my standards.”

Zoro takes a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever is behind the threshold.  For Mihawk to call the scene ‘gruesome,’ it must really be appalling. Their sergeant is not often shaken.  He exchanges a quick glance with Law, who appears to be thinking the same. With a deep breath, Zoro leads the way, pushing through the swinging door into the dimly lit kitchen.

The rancid stench hits him first, assaulting his nostrils so potently it makes his eye water. Lifting a hand to cover his mouth, he squints around the room as he slides to the side to let Law in behind him.  Nothing seems to be out of place except a chair pulled to the middle of the room, a woman tied to it with metal chains, first wrapped around her ankles and trailing up her thighs. Zoro’s gaze flows up her body, taking note of the clenched grip she has on the armrests of the chair, more metal bindings securing her arms in place.  Her torso seems to be wrapped in something similar to barbed wire. His breath catches as he reaches the sight of her face.

Her mouth is twisted in horror, as though she was screaming in her final moments.  The sockets of her eyes empty, the eyeballs themselves appearing to have melted out of her skull.  The flesh across her face is charred, hair completely singed off and splotchy with blood. Curiously, a metal chain strapped to the barbed wire around her neck seems to be pulled taut behind her.  Zoro moves to walk deeper in the room, the dead body obstructing his view as his eye follows the chain.

His stomach drops.

Wrapped in chains piled behind the chair are two small frames curled together, bodies blemished an array of red and black.  Charred. He closes his eye slowly. Takes a breath. Behind him he hears an audible noise from Law, just short of a gasp. Opening again, his eye trails back over the nightmare before him, taking in every small horror.  They were holding hands.

“Three DB’S,” Mihawk comments from behind him coldly.  “That makes four in just two weeks. He’s on a mission.”

Zoro turns around, spotting the disgusted grimace on Law’s face, his hazel eyes still glued to the scene.

Mihawk’s harsh glare penetrates him as he leans against the doorway, arms crossed.  “Indiscriminate. The worst kind. And he’s left yet another note. We have our work cut out for us.”

Muscles tensing, Zoro shoots one quick look over his shoulder, fists balling at his sides at the morbid sight again.

“We’ll fucking get him.”

 

* * *

 

Oni has been howling at the door for a while now. Sanji has lost track of the amount of times she’s disentangled herself from his lap to go off and do that. It doesn’t annoy him, only gives him more reason to feel concerned as upstairs remains cold and silent. He feels like it’s been a day or two since he’d last seen the bastard, trapping Oni with him by accident. Not having a clock is driving him up the fucking wall. And sleeping away all this time isn’t helping him track it very well. 

While Sanji appreciates the company of the cat, if anything to kill his boredom, she hasn’t eaten in a while. He’s given her some water from the spare bottles he still has left, but he can tell she’s hungry. Stomach gnawing at his insides, Sanji can only take comfort in that they’re suffering together, at the very least. 

The cat has left her fair share of ‘presents’ around the basement, not having a litter box to use. He made sure to shoo her whenever she circled on the bed that has become his living space, feeling like his sanity would snap if  _ that _ happened. He can’t blame her though, he’s had to get creative himself, using those bottles for more than just replenishing their thirst after they’re empty. Not only that, it’s been several days since he’d been allowed to clean his body. His skin is already feeling grimy, his scalp and hair greasy. He’s disgusted and tired of being forced to live like this. It’s demeaning. Damn Green Bastard. 

Sanj knows something must be up with Zoro to take this long getting home. He’s witnessed how he treats this cat, the stark contrast of his tenderness with her and his deranged habits still causing Sanji’s mind to swim. He wouldn’t just leave her like this, everything he’s come to learn should suggest otherwise. His very life is hinging on this assessment. 

He’s in the middle of stretching when he hears a thump from above, familiar footsteps barging into the house. Oni stops her whining, large eyes cast up to the ceiling curiously. Sanji sits down on the mattress, joining her in anticipated waiting. He hopes he can get a good meal when Zoro comes down. That and maybe a goddamn explanation for what’s taken him so long. 

Zoro heaves a loud sigh as he tosses his keys on the table, setting the plastic takeout bag on the kitchen counter as he turns on the light.  Worked the whole night at the crime scene and in the office all day. Probably been a solid twenty-four hours since he was last home. Glancing to the living room, he’s surprised Oni’s space on the back of the couch is empty.  He looks down at her food dish, eyebrows raising at it’s full contents.

“Oni?”

He wanders around the living room, searching in all of her normal hiding spots.  Down the hall, he looks in both extra rooms of his home before entering the master.  He peers in the bathroom, behind the shower curtain, under the bed -- no sign of the little cat, even when he calls her name.  Standing and scratching the back his neck, Zoro looks around the room with a perplexed expression, wondering just where she could be.  His eye lands on the closet door, realization hitting him like a punch to the gut.

Within seconds he has the trapdoor opened, scaling down the steps and deftly unlocking the heavy door with practiced ease.  Hastily pushing it open, he storms into the room to be met with two pairs of round eyes staring at him expectantly.

“There you are.”

Sanji’s eyebrow raises underneath a scrutinizing gaze, taking immediate notice of the man’s disheveled appearance. Rough day, maybe. There was a time early in his entrapment that this would have frightened Sanji and caused him to tread lightly around the apparent psychopath. But knowing that Zoro can’t kill him makes things different. He needs to dig a little deeper and take a more active approach if there’s any hope to progress his situation, even if it means pushing this man’s buttons. 

“She’s hungry,” Sanji says, voice hoarse from disuse. Rustling the chains at his wrists, he grumbles,  “So am I. Where the hell have you been?”

“I know, sorry,” Zoro responds robotically, his relief at finding Oni unharmed mixing with the exhaustion of his long day.   He looks around the room, seeing a couple small piles of shit in the corners. He sighs. Something else to clean up. He crosses the room to where Oni’s seated on the edge of the mattress, her punishing glare turned on him for forgetting her.  “Sorry girl.”

He turns his gaze to the man chained up next to her, studying his own glare, and realizes Sanji could have easily hurt Oni or used her against him while he was gone.  The fact that his little cat sits here unscathed -- the man even scolding him for leaving her hungry -- is a shock to him, one that he tucks away with his several other mental files of information about Sanji.  Keeping his eye on his captive cautiously, he leans down and picks up his pet. As he takes a step back, he grimaces, noticing the bottles of waste by Sanji’s bed too. He’s gotta figure this shit out.

Curiosity sparked by Zoro’s strange apology to both him and the cat, Sanji mulls on it as he watches Oni nestle into the rugged muscles of her owner’s arm. His stomach drops as Zoro turns to leave with his cat, sparing one last intense look. Sanji realizes in that split second that he doesn’t want to be left alone. Even if Zoro is horrible company, at least he’s another human being to interact with. Simple as that. 

“Wait,” Sanji calls out, echoing his previous need. “I need to eat something.” 

“Heard you the first time.”  Zoro doesn’t turn around, making his way to the door with Oni playfully nipping at a button on his shirt.  Forgiven already. “Gonna get food.”

Back upstairs, Zoro sets the cat in front of her food dish and watches for a second as she excitedly laps up water.  A twinge of guilt pangs in his chest over leaving her locked up downstairs without food or water. Deeper in his gut, a sharper pain twists, reminding him he has to come to a decision with Sanji’s situation.  He won’t be able to juggle him with the electrocutor case and he’s still left at a loss with the circumstances. He’s completely caught by his own moral code, incapable of killing someone with his instincts telling him not to and unwilling to let a guilty man go.  

A loud growl from his stomach pulls him from his thoughts, his own hunger festering as he hears the little crunches of Oni’s dinner.  He’ll concentrate on Sanji’s case once he’s not so exhausted. Moving around the kitchen, he bundles what he needs to clean up the cellar in his arms and picks up the deserted bag of dinner before heading to the depths of the basement.

The earlier mess and waste cleaned up, hands washed and crumbled shirt torn off and resting on the bench, Zoro finally pulls out two takeout containers for dinner.  Thai. Scratching his bare chest absentmindedly as he looks over the food, he nods to himself, finding everything correct. Leaving one for himself, he ambles to the mattress and hands Sanji his meal.

“It’s spicy.”

Opening the container and letting the delicious spicy aroma fill and sting his nostrils, Sanji gives Zoro a quick, grateful look before digging in, completely famished. He’s beyond happy to have an authentic meal, and it’s got a good kick to it on top of that. He loves heat in his food. It’s the little things that keep him sane in this wretched basement. He finds it interesting that Zoro even warned him of the heat, mentally stowing it away for further contemplation.

Zoro appears to be already finished by the time Sanji is picking away that the final tidbits of his own container. He combs his fork through the rice, peering up, a lingering question on his lips. “How long were you gone?”

Glancing up from where he’s perched on the stool near the workbench, Zoro sets his empty takeout container on the workbench behind him and shrugs.  “About a day or so.”

“What tied you up?” Sanji prods, genuinely curious about the answer. When Zoro’s face remains callous at the question, Sanji fills the empty air between them. “You don’t usually take this long getting back.”

“Work,” Zoro tersely responds with a glare.  “Long day.”

Scratching at the metal cuffs around his wrists, Sanji inquires boldly, “Are you hunting someone else?” 

Scowling at the question, Zoro stands and stuffs his trash into the emptied bag.  Completely worn out from his all nighter and the high stress at work, he doesn’t have it in him to sit around and talk to Sanji.  And especially not answer his constant provoking. Draping his shirt around his neck, he kicks the stool back to its place and moves to take Sanji’s trash from him and leave for the night.  He pauses at the side of the mattress, hand outstretched for the empty container and finally gives a response. 

“Yes.”

Eyes widening at the answer, Sanji feels unease settling in his bones at the chilling eye lingering on him, piercing him with a hint of something. A crack, from some unknown burden. Sanji hands over the container, pondering over the strange look in the man’s weary eye. Knowing he’s about to leave for the night and leave him truly alone this time, Sanji tests his luck once more.

“Before you leave tomorrow, can I have a book to read? To pass the time. If you’ve got any.”

Wordlessly, Zoro shoves the trash into the bag and departs the room, leaving Sanji’s lingering question and stare behind.  Trash dumped in the kitchen and lights all turned out, Zoro finally collapses onto his bed, almost knocked out the moment his head hits his pillow.  In the last fleeting moments of consciousness, his mind drifts again to the horrors of last night’s crime scene and his other side investigation. Information he withheld from Sanji.  

He’s on the hunt for two.

 

* * *

 

Mihawk slams a piece of paper down on his desk, splayed hand hovering on top of it as he peers between the two young detectives.  “We’ve got our note, gentleman.”

Zoro quickly stretches to snag the paper from the desk, reading it first to himself.  Eyebrows raising, he earns himself a gruff sigh from Law so he reads aloud, “He who thinks that the living entity is the slayer or that he is slain, does not understand.  One who is in knowledge knows that the self slays not nor is slain.” He sighs, brows furrowing in concentration as he finishes navigating the confusing language, “For the soul, there is never birth nor death.  Nor having once been, does he ever cease to be. He is unborn, eternal, ever-existing, undying, and primeval. He is not slain when the body is slain.”

He lowers the paper to rest against his knee as a heavy silence hovers in the room.   Law reaches over and snatches the note, hazel eyes running across the words as he mutters to himself. The man glances up to their sergeant and asks, “Is this scripture of some kind?”

“Very good.” Mihawk nods at the man with a solemn expression.  “It’s from the Baghavad Gita. Hindu scripture.”

Zoro crosses his arms and leans back in his seat.  “First the Bible and now this.”

“Seems our perp is fond of the good word,” Mihawk muses with a snort, twisting his chair to the side and knocking his knuckles on his desk.  “Lab hasn’t given us any findings. There were no witnesses, no security footage, nothing.” He stalls his hand over the wood, tone strengthening with irritation.  “It’s all too clean.”

“What do you want us to do?” Law questions uneasily, crossing a leg over the other and swinging his foot idly.  He motions to the paper, aggravation cracking his voice. “This means nothing to me.”

“Figure it out!” Mihawk roars unexpectedly, thrusting out of his seat and leaning across his desk.  “What do you think I hired you buffoons for? Go question the DB’s friends and family again. When you’re done, you can read every holy book on this planet for all I care.”  

Zoro stays stone still, watching as Law lowers his head, accepting the verbal beatdown.  Mihawk’s on edge about this case -- more than usual. Law should’ve known not to question their superior like that.

“Figure it out,” Mihawk reiterates, settling back in his chair and steepling his fingers.  “The game changed the moment we saw he was willing to kill two kids. Not another dead child on my watch.”

Nodding wordlessly, Law stands from his chair and takes his leave.  Zoro’s eyes lingers on the man as he drifts out of the room before twisting back to find Mihawk’s glare turned on him.  Not wanting to listen to his boss’ berating, he calmly stands and heads back to the shared office.

“Got balls today,” Zoro comments nonchalantly as he closes the door behind him, Law already angrily typing away at his laptop.

“Didn’t see the point of his ranting,” Law retorts with bite in his tone.  He twists his chair around to face Zoro. “We know this case has no leads. We’ve questioned everyone, looked at everything. It’s tight.”

Zoro leans against his own desk, folding his arms over his chest as he ponders.  They’d spent all day yesterday and today speaking to everyone they could find connected to the young mother. Typical crying family, surprised friends. Nothing out of the ordinary. They’ve also turned up no connections between the first victim and this assault.  He scratches his head.. “Maybe we read scripture then.”

“Don’t see any other options,” Law says with a hefty sigh as he turns back to his computer.  

Zoro checks his watch, eyebrows raising as he realizes it’s already half past six.  He has somewhere else to be. Packing up his desk quietly, he waves goodbye to Law and sneaks to the elevators.  There’s no use in staying in the office -- they’re at a standstill. At least he can rid the streets of a different criminal in his own way.

By the time he’s arrived to his destination, the sun is already setting in the distance as he scopes out the front of a set of office buildings.  Finding the small notepad under his seat, he opens it up and prepares to quickly jot down the time, eyes glued to the doors. Finally, a tall dark haired man appears onto the street and Zoro’s quick to write down the information he needs.  He watches the man lock the doors, pocket his keys, and then stop to adjust his glasses awkwardly with his palm before heading to his car.

Tapping his pen against the pad of paper, Zoro keeps his trained eyes fixed on the vehicle as it pulls out of the parking space and heads east to where he knows the man’s home is approximately eight miles away.  He smirks as he glances down at his notes, satisfied that he’s figured out the routine well enough to be able to strike soon. Just a couple more days and he can close this case.

As he starts up the engine of his SUV, Zoro quickly surveys the area for any signs of witnesses and then backs out of his spot to head towards home.  When he reaches the traffic light at the end of the road, he looks to his left and spies a grocery store. With a heavy sigh he turns on his blinker, painfully aware of his lack of food at home for both himself and Oni.  Might as well make a quick stop.

Two arms full of groceries later, he makes the long journey home, choosing to keep the radio turned off as he drives with his thoughts as company.  Sanji, the electrocutor, his new prey -- he’s got so much to juggle and he’s unsure where to start. Guilt hitting him in the chest, he decides he needs to expend some brainpower on the most pressing issue: the man chained in his basement.

He’s spent so many hours retracing his steps on that case -- reviewing the evidence, watching the footage, researching into Sanji’s life.  It all seems so well pieced together. His mind flashes back to the storm of emotions he saw in those blue eyes after he made that last kill.  That was not the reaction of a man who had murdered in cold blood. Grip tightening on the wheel, Zoro shuffles through his mental catalogue of information, looking for anything he may have missed.  Young girl knew Sanji, went to coffee with him, dead the next day. Security footage shows the man was even at the scene of the crime with similar timing. If there wasn’t that goddamn technicality with tampered evidence, Sanji would’ve been thrown in the slammer.  It’s all so fucking frustrating.

He hits his palm harshly against the steering wheel. Needs to get a read on this man and quick.

Jaw clenched and knuckles white as he turns down his dusty, dirt road, he parks the car in its normal spot and shuts off the engine.  The overhead light glows dimly and then slowly fades as Zoro remains seated behind the wheel, unmoving, a spark igniting. If he needs to get a good read on the man, the only way to do it is to spend extra time with him.  Talk with him. Figure him out. Zoro leans back against his seat, cursing himself for not seeing it before. He needs to question Sanji the way he and Law questions people every goddamn day.

They need to talk.

Throwing open his door, he hauls himself out of the car and quickly grabs his groceries from the backseat.  He makes his way into the house, dumping his things onto the kitchen counter once inside. Stopping only to give Oni a gentle tickle under the chin, Zoro goes through the motions of putting away his food and warming up dinner for him and Sanji both.  Frozen dinners tonight. Once the microwave’s beeped, he opens the fridge and fishes out the six pack he’d bought, tucking it under arm as he carefully carries both meals towards his room.

Sanji is deeply immersed in a book when hears the first footsteps above, craning his head up to the ceiling. They’re Zoro’s and the man is alone as usual. He knows it will be a little bit longer before Zoro comes down to check on him, so he turns a page and continues the story. Some old detective novel. Figures the weirdo would have this thing laying around but he can’t say he’s not grateful to have it. He’s nearing the end now and it’s distracted him for a good while. The man had also been ‘generous’ enough to give him a bucket to piss in and some more bottles of water to survive off of. If only he could have a proper shower, he’d be just peachy.

While it’s a nice change of pace from his captor’s usual neglect, Sanji is beginning to get quite restless as days and weeks go by. He can’t help getting impatient as he waits for his fate to be decided. The longer time goes by, the weaker his body and mind feels. All the stretching and exercises he’s been doing have been good for maintaining endurance but there’s only so much he can do with so many calories. He hasn’t been eating properly at all since he got captured. Even at peak strength Sanji isn’t sure he could overpower Zoro and so if his fate is decided to be death, he’ll fight and he’ll lose. As for his mind, well this book has helped his sanity for the time being but he knows he’s not far from slipping if he’s to be trapped here for more weeks or months to come. 

The footsteps have finally progressed further into the house, now near the door in his sight. It opens raucously and Zoro walks inside, two steaming trays in his hands and a sixpack of beer under his arm. He stares at the beer, befuddlement taking over his features. Rough day, perhaps. Does Zoro intend to drink that entire sixpack here and now? 

Chains rattling as Sanji closes his book and sets it aside, he accepts the tray from Zoro, grimacing at it with disdain. A frozen meal. He’d rather be chained to the kitchen as the bastard’s cooking slave than see another one of these damn things handed to him. 

After handing Sanji his dinner, Zoro ambles back to his workbench to grab his stool and drag it to the center of the room.  Pausing as he lands in the area he normally sits in, he decides to tug it a little closer, plopping it in a spot within just a couple feet of Sanji’s mattress.  He takes a seat, balancing his tray on his knee as he unhooks a can of beer from the plastic ring and tucks it between his thighs. He gestures to the remainder of the pack as he offers, “Want one?”

Sanji stares at it warily. His food so far hasn’t been drugged or poisoned so he supposes he can accept the beer. But honestly, he’s not sure he feels like dulling his senses around this man. Lifting his fork, Sanji says, “I’ll stick to this for now.” 

“Suit yourself,” Zoro responds as he places the cans on the ground the stool, cracking open his own drink and guzzling it back.  He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and tucks the can between his legs again, finally picking up his meal and digging in.

Begrudgingly, Sanji picks away at his meal, finishing long after Zoro as usual. The man is on his second beer when he puts the tray aside. He clears his throat and grumbles, “How you keep muscles like that with this kind of diet is beyond me.”

Zoro raises an eyebrow at the comment, finishing off his beer and setting the empty on the ground by the other along with the disposed plastic tray.  “Work out a lot,” he explains gruffly as he cracks open a new can, leaning forward on his stool with a curious look. “Still hungry or somethin’?”

“No,” Sanji responds with a sigh. The way the man pulled up a stool close by him and offered him a beer has been setting him on edge. It’s different than before, just like the book next to his lap. Wanting to get whatever he’s planned over with, he prompts, “Just get on with whatever you’re playing here.”

Zoro leans back slightly and frowns.  He hadn’t said two full sentences to the man and he’s already assuming something’s wrong. Rubbing the back of his neck, he studies Sanji and tries to think what sort of peace offering he could give him.  If he’s going to solve this case, he needs the man to open up at least a little bit. Lighting up with an idea, he digs a small set of keys from his pocket and moves off the stool, stepping forward towards the bed.

At first, Sanji inches further back into the mattress but when he sees the keys in the man’s grip, he pauses. He watches dumbly as Zoro gently takes his arms and unlocks his handcuffs. Zoro steps back towards the stool, taking a seat and gulping from his beer. Sanji rubs at his wrists, happy to be able to stimulate the chafed skin. “What is this?” he asks tentatively. 

“Don’t like it?” Zoro teases lightly, spinning the cuffs around his index finger.  “Can put them back.”

“Prefer them off,” Sanji says with a frown, studying Zoro carefully. What is he playing at? Whatever it is, two can play this friendly little game. With a wily expression, he jokes, “Been treating me a step above a dog lately. Do I get a bath too?”

A pang of guilt ruptures deep in Zoro’s chest.  He quickly pushes it away, reminding himself that Sanji is down here for a reason.  Unsure of how to respond, he glances to the hose on the back wall. Tilting his head slightly in contemplation, he proposes a compromise, “Can do a hose shower like last time.”

As much as he’d prefer a proper shower or bath, as he fingers through his greasy hair Sanji thinks a hosing sounds quite nice. He never imagined he’d ever think those words. He asks quietly, “Can I have shampoo and conditioner this time?” 

Nodding silently, Zoro stands to head up and grab everything Sanji may need.  He stops to collect their trash, dumping it on the workbench counter before leaving the room.  As he heaves himself through the trapdoor in the closet, his mind runs through ways he can make Sanji open up a bit to him.  He’s had the man chained up down there far too long. Something needs to happen soon. Rummaging through the dresser drawer for more clean clothes, an idea floats into his mind.  By the time he’s collected shampoo and soap from the bathroom, he’s got the plan sorted out. Just has to hope it works. Back downstairs in a flash, he closes the heavy door behind him.  

He treads to the middle of the room and dumps the small pile of things he’s collected upstairs: shirt, sweats, towel, toiletries.  Eyeing the man still seated on the mattress, he moves to the cabinets of his workbench, unlocking one and reaching in. With a frown, his hand searches blindly for a moment until his fingers touch what he needs.  Everything locked back up, he makes his way to Sanji’s bedside again.

“No funny business,” Zoro warns seriously as he finds the right key and unlocks the cuffs from around Sanji’s feet.  He ensnares the man’s ankle in a strong grip and flashes him a quick glimpse of the switchblade he has waiting in his hand.  “I mean it.”

“Believe me, I know you can kill me,” Sanji reassures with a biting look. 

Releasing his hold, Zoro stands up slowly and stares down at the man with one last threatening glare.  It doesn’t make any sort of sense but deep down, a part of him feels he can trust Sanji to behave this time around.  Unwilling to throw caution to the wind completely, he drags his stool to sit in front of the door and perches on it, flicking open his switchblade and twirling it in his hand.

Grabbing the shampoo and soap before stepping up to the drain, Sanji looks between Zoro and the hose, unsure if he’s giving him autonomy over it or not. He tests the waters, stepping towards the hose and grabbing it, glancing at the man precariously. No movement and his expression hasn’t changed so he assumes this is what is expected of him. He undresses quickly and turns it on, knowing how having watched the killer do it several times over. To wash blood off these cement floors no less. Sanji shudders from more than just the cool temperature of the water releasing from the nozzle. 

Sanji turns his back to Zoro as he rinses himself, the feeling heavenly on his skin despite the uncomfortable temperature. Lathering his hair with shampoo feels even more euphoric, the smell of Old Spice nostalgic for him. Reminds him of Zeff, he thinks sadly. After he’s finished his washing, he turns off the hose, puts it back in it’s proper spot and grabs a towel, wrapping it around himself. He dries himself off enough to put on the fresh clothes, another t-shirt -- this time dark blue -- and a pair of sweatpants that surely won’t fit him right.

Clothed, he bends down to place the shampoo and soap in the pile when he notices a toothbrush and toothpaste. Ecstatic, he picks them up and looks to Zoro with gratitude. This is rather considerate of him. Sanji had become far too used to the grainy coating on his teeth.

“Leave those in the bathroom,” Zoro pipes in from his seat.  “Can be part of our morning routine.”

Nodding, Sanji shuffles to the bathroom and brushes his teeth over the sink for minutes. When he’s finished, he makes his way back over to the mattress, sliding his tongue along his smooth pearly whites with glee. It’s the small things in this shitty situation which he has to focus on. Fed, washed and wearing fresh clothing, Sanji sits back down on the mattress, pleased to have some long neglected basic needs attended to. 

Looking to Zoro as the man finally stands, Sanji wants to ask how much longer the man intends to keep up this routine in general, but instead he disguises the query under humor.  “I know I don’t pay rent but I hope I’m a good roommate. Getting used to me yet?” 

Zoro can’t help but crack a smirk at Sanji’s quip as he makes his way to the foot of the mattress.  Kneeling on the edge, he places the switchblade between his teeth as he gently relocks the cuffs around the man’s ankles.  “Not quite,” he mumbles around the handle as he shifts to sit on the ground near the bed. He sighs as he removes the weapon from his teeth, closing the blade and tucking it back in his pocket.  “Might have to start charging soon.”

Sanji chuckles slowly, shaking his head. This is so fucked up and yet he’s just happy to joke around and be social with somebody. His loneliness and loopy mind is beginning to outweigh his fear at this point. He shouldn’t care anymore what he says or asks. Zoro hasn’t done anything to hurt him in a long time, other than threaten him with that switchblade should he misbehave. The strange man has earned that rudimentary level of trust from him at least. “So have you figured out what to do with me yet? Other than wine, dine and give me your lovely company tonight. Guilty or innocent?” 

“Lovely company, huh?” Zoro repeats bitterly as he stretches back and grabs the six pack still abandoned on the floor.  He tugs off a fourth beer and pops it open, taking a slow drink. They’ve been at this for weeks now and it’s gotten damn near exhausting.  Never once has he been in this situation and it’s starting to make him crack. After all this time, it doesn’t surprise him at all that Sanji’s figured out he’s debating what to do.  It’ll probably work in his favor to just be honest with the guy and see what it gets him. Sloshing the beer in his can gently, Zoro connects his gaze with Sanji’s and gives him an honest answer, “Not a fucking clue.”

Running his hands through his strands to tame them while they’re wet, Sanji sighs exasperatedly. “Guess you really will have to start charging me rent. I would write you a check, but I don’t got one on me.” 

“Pay me with talk.”

Looking up in confusion, Sanji’s brows furrow. Then his features lighten again. This switch up seems to be working for him. “Oh, you got time? Was beginning to think you were getting sick of me.”

“Gettin’ sick of you alright,” Zoro agrees with a swallow of beer.  

“I think I’m rather charming,” Sanji jests with a cheeky grin

Zoro looks the man over as he takes another drink.  Maybe in another life he would have agreed with the sentiment.  He deliberates for a quiet moment, picking out the right method of questioning to use.  Deciding to wield a tactic he learned from an old police chief of his, he throws some bait, interested to see if the man will bite.  “Since you’re stuck here, it’s only fair you learn more about me.” He pauses. “What do you wanna know?”

Sanji scrutinizes the man over as his question settles in his mind. Whatever he’s playing, Sanji has no choice but to take the bait. He already knows he can’t win with brawn, so he has to play smart. And he can’t say he’s not genuinely curious to hear more about this man’s offbeat life. 

“You’re not from here, are you? Got an accent. Southern. Tell me about that.” 

“Mississippi.  Came here ‘bout a decade ago.”

“I was going to ask who moves from the warm sunny south to this shit weather, but then you went and said Mississippi.” 

Zoro nods in agreement, a grin forming on his face.  “Nothin’ down there but churches and potholes.”

“So I’ve heard,” Sanji says smoothly. Clasping his hands together, he leans his elbows over his knees, nestling into a conversation where he finally has some control. He’s glad to have any sense of control at this point. “I remember you at my restaurant one time. At the bar. I talked to you. You were scouting me out then, weren’t you?” 

“I was,” Zoro confirms with a sharp nod.  Thoughts flashing back to that day, he comments lightly, “Fish and chips were good.”

“They are good, aren’t they?” Sanji agrees with a wide smirk, laughing slowly.  Again, those subtle inklings from that time at the bar come crashing back to him. So innocent then. Gesturing around them at their circumstances with a small shrug, he jokes, “I would say it was romantic, but.” 

“Tried to control my whiskey,” Zoro gripes facetiously with a disapproving scowl, steering away from Sanji’s comment on romance.  Truth be told, he remembered feeling hit with a hint of attraction when they’d interacted. It had disgusted him at the time, knowing the pretty blond was a killer he was vetting.  Now the whole thing’s so goddamned confusing he doesn’t know how to feel. A part of him wonders if maybe that little spark was his gut trying to tell him something.

Sanji nods, remembering Zoro’s drink of choice in that moment. He knows it’s fucked up but despite everything, he can still look at the man in front of him and feel that same draw he had initially. It could be that he’s been too lonely trapped in here or that Zoro’s kind gestures are developing some twisted up level of trust in him that he’s misconstruing. He moves on to another question he’s thought long and hard over during his imprisonment. “Has this happened before? Has someone been in this position before me?” 

This one’s easy for Zoro to answer.  He finishes off the last of his beer as he responds, “Never.”

Sanji catches something in Zoro’s eyes and his voice with that response. Guilt, disappointment, frustration. Some emotion flickering in there. He’ll have to keep an eye out for more. “Happy to be your first, then,” he jokes lightheartedly. The man seems to appreciate his sense of humor so he sticks with it. He can’t say it’s not fun. Watching Zoro reach for his fifth beer, he notes there’s only one last chance for a drink. He asks the question he’s been the most curious about since seeing Crocodile die by his hand. 

“You have rules for what you do. Killing like this. I hate it but I can still respect it. Why did you start doing it?”

Heart heavy, Zoro shakes his head at the question.  This is where he draws the line. Sighing as he pops the cap of his brew, he raises a hand in response after he takes a swig.  “You’re cut off for the night.”

Sanji purses his lips in disappointment, realizing that he went too far with that last one, apparently. Damn. He’d been genuinely curious too. What on earth would push a man to such extremes? Maybe he’ll get an answer out of him yet, but tonight won’t be the night. Pointing to the sixth beer, Sanji ponders aloud, “Am I cut off from that?” 

Glancing to the last beer with a raised brow, Zoro sets down his own drink and pulls the can from the plastic ring.  “Go ahead,” he says as he leans forward, offering the brew to Sanji.

Sanji takes it gratefully, feeling comfortable enough to crack the beer open and take a long, refreshing gulp. Dulling his sense around the man might not be as bad as expected. With a pleased sigh, Sanji rests the can in his lap, lifting inquisitive eyes Zoro’s way. “Maybe some cigarettes next and I’ll almost be back to normal.” 

“Not happening,” Zoro snorts as he finishes off his beer in one long gulp.  Crushing the can in his hand he stands and stretches, bending down to collect his empties.  He crosses the room and adds it to the bag of trash from earlier still laying on the workbench.  Moving around the room, he picks up the soap, shampoo, and towel, preparing to head up for the night.

“Had to try,” Sanji says quietly with a shrug. He notices Zoro’s making preparations to head back up and leave him alone again. Looking down to his hands, he realizes the cuffs are still missing from his wrists. He knows he shouldn’t ask, doesn’t want to remind Zoro if he’s forgotten, but if there’s anything he’s come to understand about his captor it’s that he’s a methodical man. Hardly ever slips up or does anything without a reason. There’s always an additional layer to his actions. It prompts him to seek out his reaction by reminding, “My cuffs?”

Zoro pauses his movements and studies Sanji’s curious stare.  Delving into his pocket, he produces the cuffs and holds them up.  “Got ‘em here.” He tosses them onto the workbench with a small thunk and makes his way to the door, sliding the stool out of his way with his foot so he can open it.  As he retreats from the room, he calls back casually, “Night.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, feels great to be back to writing this story again! thanks everyone for your patience.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big thanks to aevium for being sanji's godmother in this story and helping with writing/characterization.

Sitting at the breakroom table with the newspaper in front of him, Zoro finds it hard to concentrate on anything but the thoughts swirling in his head.  At the forefront of his mind is the talk he’d had with Sanji few nights ago. It’s rattling him to his core, completely unsettling that he was able to so smoothly have a conversation with the man and not feel any ounce of suspicion.  And deep inside, in the pit of his gut, he liked the banter between the two of them. Zoro glances over the black headlines, his vision completely unfocused and lost in the pages of the paper. If he’s being honest, he enjoys the man’s company.  He’s even found the long hours he’s putting in at the office are making him crave the companionship again. It’s so fucked up.

He folds up the paper with a grimace and tosses it across the table for someone else to read.

As if on cue, Usopp comes bustling into the small room, goofy grin as his face as he waves to Zoro.  “All right! Reading material!” he proclaims as he crosses to the microwave and begins heating up his breakfast.  Tapping the handle as he waits for the time to tick down, he looks back to Zoro and asks, “What’re you up to tonight?”

Zoro scratches the back of his neck and shrugs.  “Nothin’.”

“Good!” Usopp replies cheerfully, turning to the microwave as it beeps to signal his food is done.  “You should come to Luffy’s tonight for game night. It feels like we haven’t gotten together in forever.”

Leaning back in his chair with a frown, Zoro crosses his arms and looks up at the ceiling tiles, unsure how to respond.  He hasn’t been around his friends much over the last few days, having pointedly ignored several of Luffy and Nami’s texts.  But there’s the matter of the man in his basement. He groans and looks back at Usopp, giving his friend a powerless look. “Tonight?”

“C’mon, man,” Usopp berates as he sinks into the chair across from Zoro and blows on his steaming oatmeal.  “I know it’s been crazy here but we’ve seen Law plenty. Why’re you avoiding us?”

“Ain’t avoiding you.”

Usopp points his spoon accusingly in Zoro’s direction.  “Nami’s on my ass constantly saying you’re not answering her.  She’s close to staking out your house at this point.” He digs out a bite of his breakfast and chews thoughtfully.  “Luffy’s worried too. And he wants you to meet Sausage.”

“Sausage?” Zoro inquires incredulously.  He doesn’t have a clue what Usopp is talking about.

“His new puppy.  She’s a daschund,” Usopp explains with a roll of his eyes as he wipes his mouth.  “See? You’re missing everything. You need to come chill.”

They stare at each other for a beat before Zoro finally concedes with a sigh.  “Gotta go home first,” he warns as he stands to head to his office. “Be there around eight.”

“Works for me!” Usopp chirps with a cheerful grin as he scrapes the sides of his mug for the last of his oatmeal.  “I’ll let everyone know. They’ll be stoked!”

Zoro shakes his head as he exits the breakroom and stalks down the hall to his office.  Before he reaches the door, he spies Law out of the corner of his eye talking to Lucci. His partner glances up and catches him, beckoning him over with a tilt of his head.  Zoro’s swiftly at their side, Lucci nodding to him as he joins their circle.

“Autopsy found blood that wasn’t the victims,” Lucci tells him candidly, stern expression never leaving his face.  “It was under the DB’s fingernails”

Zoro looks between the two men, crossing his arms.  This could be a huge break if anything comes from it.  They had a case last year with a similar find -- the victim scratched her assailant and blood led them to a guilty conviction.  “Assume they’re analyzing further?”

“Yes,” Law answers as he buries his hands in his pockets, a light shine in his hazel eyes.  “Mihawk asked they process as quickly as possible. Should know more by next week.”

“Let’s keep our heads straight,” Lucci chides with a sharp glare.  “It could be nothing. But at least we have some hope.”

The man nods to them both, bidding farewell as they turn to retreat to their office, Law closing the door behind him.  Zoro drops into the chair behind his desk and leans back, resting his arms behind his head. He studies Law as he takes his seat and swivels to face Zoro, crossing one leg over the other.

“I don’t know why but this case aggravates me.”

Zoro can’t help but grin as Law’s foot swings irritably, his arms folded across his chest with a deep set scowl on his face.  “‘Course it does,” he retorts with a roll of his eye. “It don’t make sense.”

“Been a long time since I had one like this,” Law says with a sigh, eyes focused on the floor.  “Usually there’s some evidence, something that’s obvious.” His gaze snaps up, connecting with Zoro’s.  “I have a lingering hunch that this will get worse before it gets better.”

Frowning at Law’s pessimism, Zoro sits up and leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk.  “Hope not,” he grumbles, a heaviness settling in his chest. Unfortunately, he’d had a similar hunch -- a feeling he hasn’t been able to shake since that last crime scene.  “Just gotta stay focused.”

Law twists his chair around to his computer, fingertips tapping on the keyboard to light up the screen.  “I don’t even know what to focus on anymore.”

That’s a sentiment Zoro can certainly agree with.  

The morning passes without much event.  After their department debrief, he and Law spend time re-reviewing their recorded witness testimonies and interviews, scrutinizing every phrase, word, and tone for any hole or clue.  It’s painfully tedious work, reviewing every part of the conversation with such minute attention to detail. And this is the third time they’ve done it. By the time early afternoon rolls around, Zoro’s at his wit’s end, unable to listen to repeat information anymore.

“Getting a bite,” he announces as he stands and stretches, gaining Law’s attention.  

“I’ll come with.”  Law concurs as he stands himself and turns to leave.  He huffs slightly when he spots Zoro’s amused expression.  “I don’t live here, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

As they make their way down the hall to the elevators, a gruff voice calls to them from an open office door.  Zoro halts and peers inside, finding Lieutenant Smoker seated in front of Mihawk’s desk.

“Come in, boys,” the man commands, beckoning them to close the door once they’re inside.

They awkwardly stand to the side, waiting for any direction from the superiorly ranked men.  Smoker’s hard stare is analyzing them both. A long moment passes before he questions, “Trafalgar, when was your last full day off?”

Law remains still, stare forward as he answers honestly, “Sometime before the Drum case.”

“Drum?” Smoker repeats incredulously, folding his arms over his chest.  He glances to Zoro. “Same for you?”

“Been a good bit,” Zoro admits with a nod, avoiding the piercing glare Mihawk is shooting their direction.  They’ve had this kind of conversation with the Lieutenant before.

“Mihawk, you need to give these men time off,” Smoker orders gruffly as he turns to face his subordinate.  “There’s no progress on this case. We’re waiting on forensics for information, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Mihawk responds with a resentful tone, returning his eyes to the Lieutenant.  “We’ve done as much as we can for the time being.” He glances over to where Zoro and Law still stand.  “I’ve had them reviewing photos and witness interviews. We’re leaving no stone uncovered.”

“Won’t do you much good if they’re overworked and exhausted,” Smoker challenges bitingly as he turns to acknowledge them again.  “It’s Thursday. Come back on Monday.” He glances to where Mihawk’s still glaring at him. “You too, Mihawk.”

Zoro watches as Mihawk’s scowl shifts to a look of surprise.

“You’re all on call,” Smoker continues as he heaves himself out of the wooden chair.  Patting his coat jacket, he finds an unlit cigar and tucks it between his teeth. “If something happens, you’ll be alerted immediately but I need all three of you with sharp minds on Monday.  Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” Zoro and Law respond in unison.

Seemingly satisfied with the agreement and the lack of argument from Mihawk, Smoker swiftly exits the room.  All three of them stand still as they listen to his footsteps echo down the hall and the elevator ding, signalling his descent to go take a smoke break.

“You two are lucky the Lieutenant’s mood has worked in your favor,” Mihawk says sourly as he narrows his eyes at them.

“Come off it,” Zoro replies with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “You get time off too.”

The captain’s lip curls into a smirk as he reaches forward and closes his laptop with a slam.  “Keep your phones on loud.” He pauses. “That means you, Roronoa.”

“Got it.”  

 

* * *

  


A subtle smirk crosses Sanji’s lips as he glances up to the ceiling above him, having heard the all-too familiar sound of Zoro’s footsteps thunking overhead.  He peeks at the digital clock that the man had put on the workbench for him a couple days ago. It’s early, just a little past three. Setting his book aside, he raises his arms in a long stretch and shifts to sit on the edge of the mattress.  If only he could get rid of these cuffs around his feet.

As he waits for Zoro to make his descent, he scratches his chin and wonders if perhaps there’s any chance these shitty things will be removed.  He’s been allowed new freedoms over the past few days, even if his captor hasn’t been around very often. It started the day after the handcuffs were removed.  That morning he was brought several more books, a small stack of them now resting next to his bed. That night he was given a bag of healthy snacks and fruit to munch on during the day.  And then the clock. Hell, Zoro even brought down a little trash can so Sanji can clean up after himself. He shakes his head with amusement. Maybe the idiot took his joke about being roommates seriously.

Sanji stares at his chained ankles, his earlier smirk shifting into a frown.  What he’d give to be able to just cross his legs. Stretch. Take a couples steps without shuffling.  When Zoro had let him shower earlier in the week, he had felt such profound freedom in those small actions.  He’s got to figure out how to make this man let him go.

His thoughts fall on the conversation he and Zoro had a few nights ago.  It had been so interesting to see that little bit of humanity from the man who put him in this position.  Unsure if its the desperation for human contact or his own fucked up intrigue, but Sanji’s actually missed the bastard’s company over the last couple days.  They haven’t really talked much, Zoro only coming down to bring him food and make sure he gets to the washroom. It’s left a strange emptiness inside him and though he’s done well to fill that void with reading and sleeping, he can’t shake his desire for the peculiar man to linger, even just briefly.  

The sound of footsteps descending shakes Sanji from his thoughts, his eyes darting to the door as he excitedly waits for it to open.  Within moments, Zoro appears in the room looking as stern as ever with an armful of paperwork and a brown paper sack. Sanji crosses his arms and watches the man settle his items in his usual spot on the workbench before he turns to acknowledge him.  Their stares connect and he’s surprised to feel his heart skip a beat as he realizes Zoro might actually be staying for a bit.

Zoro firmly pushes the door closed and situates his stool in front of it.  He goes through the motions of digging his switchblade out of the cabinet before locking everything up and twisting to face Sanji again.  Flashing the weapon at the man, he’s satisfied when he receives a small nod in response. He keeps it tight in his grip as he swiftly strides to Sanji’s bedside and kneels to unlock the cuffs from his ankles.  As he stands, Zoro notices a curious expression turned on him and he simply shrugs.

“Don’t feel like parading you around.”

Sanji watches as his captor returns to plop down on his stool, his heavy stare intently focused on him.  He again wonders fleetingly if his captor is just toying with him but there seems to be no sign of amusement in the coal black eye turned his way.  Just a bored expression as he props his elbow on his knee. Happy to take advantage of this freedom for as long as he can, Sanji hastily stands and makes his way to the bathroom, relishing in the fact that he can do all his business without Zoro standing outside the doorway.  He slowly returns back to the main room, stretching his legs with every step and strolling to the bed.

“Got burgers.”

Smirking as Sanji glances to him wide-eyed, Zoro simply tilts his head towards the paper bag he left resting on the workbench.  The man slowly nods and shifts his course, tentatively approaching the counter. He stops a few feet away, blue eyes studying him meticulously.

“Is this another game of yours?” Sanji asks, eyes narrowing at the man still clutching his switchblade.  Interestingly, Zoro doesn’t have the knife brandished but knowing he’s armed is threat enough to keep him from trying anything stupid.  Plus he’s curious to see where this afternoon’s events lead.

“Figured you’d rather stretch,” Zoro responds with a shrug.  He’s noticed the pained look in Sanji’s face over the last few days every time he’s had the man shuffle around with his ankle cuffs.  On the way home he decided he’d let him roam a little bit, as long as he behaves. “Do you want them back on?”

“No,” Sanji says quickly as he closes the gap between where he stands and the workbench.  When his captor had removed his handcuffs, he had been wary but it turned out to be a permanent solution.  A strange trust has formed between the two of them over the last few days and he’s not going to fuck it up by questioning the man’s change of heart.  Hands trembling slightly as he opens the paper sack, his face lights up with recognition as he reads the label. “Groggy’s?”

“Best in town,” Zoro confirms as he crosses his arms, gaze set on Sanji as he tugs out the two burgers and sets one aside.  He looks over and stretches an arm out, offering the other casually. Zoro reaches forward, feeling their fingers brush as the man hands him his lunch.  Glancing up, their eyes connect and he feels something stir inside briefly until Sanji twists back to face his meal.

Fingertips tingling at the abrupt contact, Sanji picks up his sandwich and turns around to look at his seating options.  He only spots two: either the bed he spends every waking moment on or the chair that he’s witnessed Zoro murder a man in.  Dissatisfied with either choice, he grimaces and questions, “Is there anywhere I can eat this properly?”

“Last cabinet has another stool tucked in it,” Zoro directs, motioning his unwrapped burger towards the opposite end of the bench.  “That one’s unlocked.”

Sanji gleefully follows Zoro’s instruction, he’s easily able to find the stool the man mentioned and carries it back near Zoro, situating himself in front of the counter.  He pleasantly unwraps his burger and takes a bite, letting the familiar taste wash over him as a reminder of the outside world. They eat in silence, as they tend to do, with Zoro finishing first and tossing his balled up wrapper onto the bench.  Sanji’s eyes follow the bouncing trash as it lands on top of a manilla file folder, one similar to what he’d read the Crocodile case notes in.

“New reading material?” he implores as he wipes his hands on the cheap, brown fast food napkin.

“Could say that,” Zoro retorts with a hefty sigh, leaning back against the door and patting his gut.  That feeling of comfort he’s had swirling in his mind blankets him again as he watches Sanji finish off the last of his lunch and quietly tuck his trash into the discarded paper sack, cleaning up Zoro’s as well.  Shifting his gaze to the empty mattress, he frowns at the sight. He’s got a while until he needs to head out to Luffy’s. Might as well use it to probe Sanji more. Flicking his eye back to the man seated at the workbench, he lifts a brow as he spies a blue stare already fixed on him.

“Still don’t know what to do with me yet, do you?”

Zoro rubs the back of his neck and shakes his head honestly.  “Tell me about that girl.”

Sanji’s eyes widen in surprise.  So Zoro actually wants to talk about the reasons he’s down here.  This is his opportunity to do whatever he can to show the man his innocence.  Nodding slightly, he shifts his body so he’s facing Zoro fully and crosses his legs.  “I barely knew her. She asked me for a job at the Baratie, said she wanted to learn to be a cook.  Poor girl had no experience in a kitchen but her heart was in the right place,” he explains to Zoro’s blank expression.  “We met for coffee. It was an informal interview of sorts. She seemed happy when I offered her a job but,” Sanji pauses, a pang of sadness hitting him in the chest as he now knows why she never came the next day.   “But she never showed up.”

Zoro keeps his eyes glued to Sanji’s face, watching every wave of emotion cross his features as he recounts his experience with Cosette.  Zoro’s read the transcript of his statement hundreds of times -- the story remains exactly the same. It’s different hearing it in person, though.  Words on paper and recordings don’t capture the subtleties of the pained grief that pool in the man’s eyes as he reflects.

“If I was a suspect in this case,” Sanji starts slowly, not wanting his question to upset his captor.  It’s boggled him since day one and he needs to know, no matter the consequence. “Then why didn’t I ever get arrested? Why didn’t the police come after me?” He pauses.  “Why didn’t you come after me?”

“A technicality,” Zoro responds sharply, scowl forming on his face as he turns the switchblade over in his palm.  It’s always a goddamn technicality. In Sanji’s case, Lucci’s team was close to getting a warrant to take Sanji in as a suspect when they got orders from the top to freeze all efforts.  The judge got word of some evidence being tampered with -- the video footage Zoro’s now in possession of, to be exact -- and he refused to grant any arrest. Because there was no known family pressing for answers and their biggest suspect being considered only on mitigating circumstances, the poor girl landed herself quickly in a closed stack of cold cases.  Zoro could’ve throttled the dumb fuck who was accused of stealing the video footage from a corner market, but they never found out. It just simply appeared one day -- both a blessing and a curse.

Sanji purses his lips at the terse response, not satisfied with the explanation.  “What ‘technicality?’” he urges further, testing his luck as he wrings his hands in his lap.  “Wouldn’t I have at least known --”

Zoro cuts him off with a wave of his hand.  “Doesn’t work that way,” he explains through clenched teeth, an old wound ripping in his chest causing his hand to idly stroke the scar through the fabric of his shirt.  “Shit happens all the time.” He gestures to the room around them. “Hence, this.”

Running a hand through his long locks, Sanji sighs irritably, wishing so badly he had a smoke.  This conversation isn’t going to get him anywhere and he doesn’t want to risk Zoro getting angry and leaving.  Or worse. He can’t even fault the guy for what he does even though he hates it. It’s not senseless murder. He just wishes he knew why he’s in this fucked up situation.  Their game from the other night resurfaces in Sanji’s mind. In order to learn a new recipe, you have to be familiar with your ingredients. If he learns more about this captor then maybe he can unlock something he can use to convince the man to let him go.  

“Have you read all those books you gave me?”

Zoro looks up from where he’d been staring at the floor, bewildered expression on his face at the sudden change in topic.  “Yeah,” he replies as he crosses his arms, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Westerns and crime dramas,” Sanji hums with a playful smirk ghosting his lips.  “So predictable for a guy like you.”

Zoro raises a quizzical eyebrow.  “Got a couple weight lifting magazines,” he offers with a sly grin.

“Don’t have any interest in learning how to be a musclehead,” Sanji teases back as he uncrosses and recrosses his legs.  Humor worked for him in the past, so he continues with a quip, “Though the pictures might be fun to look at.”

Shaking his head, Zoro can’t help but chuckle at the remark.  Sanji seems to enjoy his reaction and punctuates his joke with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrow causing something to stir in Zoro’s lower half.  It catches him off guard completely as that same spark of allure he’d felt at the Baratie becomes glaringly present again. Needing to remove himself from this situation immediately, Zoro simply points to the mattress and orders, “Go back.”

Taken aback by the sudden shift in mood, Sanji hesitates for a moment as he studies Zoro’s rigid body language.  When he doesn’t move quick enough, the man points again more aggressively and Sanji stands, hastily returning to his bed.  He studies Zoro as he looms at the foot of the mattress and swiftly locks the cuffs around his ankles. His confusion deepens as the man’s hand lingers briefly at his shin and he finds himself pinned by a heavy stare.  There’s a look in Zoro’s gaze that he’s never seen before and he can’t help but feel an electric jolt run through his body as he’s trapped beneath it. Sucking in a sharp breath, he focuses on the strong hand still connected to him and is surprised by how much he enjoys the touch.

Standing back up, Zoro twists on his heel and makes his leave out the door and up the steep stairs.  Once he’s back in his bedroom, he shuts the trapdoor with a resolute slam and strides into the bathroom.  Stripping completely, he jerks the water faucet on and steps into the cold splash, leaning his forehead against the tile as he lets the cool droplets pelt his heated skin.  Eyes clenched shut, he takes a calming deep breath and focuses on composing himself, willing his rapid heartbeat to slow and pulsing in his groin to subside.

Sanji shakes his head gently, finally tearing his stare from the spot Zoro just occupied, still feeling the grip on his ankle.  Swallowing hard, he trails his hand down his chest and places it over his lap, feeling his semi-hard erection. It’s an unexpected reaction to Zoro’s hold on his leg and the intensity of his presence kneeling at the foot of his bed, looming over him.  Chewing on his bottom lip, he lies back on the pillow and stares up at the ceiling as he tries to think of anything other than the cloud of lust he saw in the man’s dark eye. Unable to shake the image, he allows his hand to sink into his sweatpants and grip himself, gasping lightly at the touch.  

No.   

He removes his hand hurriedly and pins his arms underneath his head.  This whole situation is fucked up, he reprimands himself. Can’t let it get worse with the unshakeable attraction he’d felt that afternoon in the Baratie so many weeks ago.  Attributing this slip to his desperate need to get out of the basement, Sani curls up on his side and closes his eyes, forcing away his mind’s racing thoughts of his captor.

 

* * *

 

“Yahtzee!”

Zoro watches from the couch as Luffy cheers excitedly at the dice on the table, Usopp and Chopper grimacing in response.  

Law peers over from where he’s seated in a chair at the other end of the table and shakes his head.  “That’s not a Yahtzee.”

“I know.”  Luffy shrugs with a laugh, scooping up the dice and putting them back in the cup.  “I just like to say Yahtzee!”

“Quit doing that!” Chopper scolds with a wave of his arms.

“Yeah!” Usopp echoes, punching Luffy in the shoulder.  “You can only yell ‘Yahtzee’ when you got five of a kind.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Luffy apologizes with a beaming grin as he vigorously shakes the dice and dumps the cup onto the tabletop again.  His eyes widen as he pumps a fist into the air. “Yahtzee!”

The other two men at the table groan as they realize this time he actually scored.

Snorting at their ridiculousness, Zoro takes a swig of his beer and directs his attention to the little dog sniffing at his shoes.  He grins as her round brown eyes look up at him, giving him a begging look. He reaches down to pick her up and settles her in his lap as she licks his fingers.

“Sausage wants to be friends!” Luffy shouts excitedly from the table, flying out of his seat and landing on the couch at Zoro’s side.  “Sausage!” he addresses the puppy as he gently rubs her ears, “Zoro is one of my best friends so you gotta like him too!”

“Can’t believe Ace let you keep her,” Zoro says with a chuckle as the small pink tongue laps at his knuckles.  Luffy’s been sharing this place with his older brother since Usopp and Nami moved in together last year.

“Well, I was gonna keep her at Traf’s but the grouch didn’t let me,” Luffy explains, earning himself a huff from the gloomy man in the corner.  “So Ace said I could keep her here. I think he likes her as much as I do.” He stops and excitedly grips Zoro’s arm. “Sausage should meet Oni!”

Zoro grins and nods as the dachshund toddles from his lap to her owner’s.  “Bring her over Sunday.”

“‘Kay!” Luffy enthusiastically agrees, lifting the puppy in his hands and letting her lick his face as he speaks.  “Hear that, Sausage? You get to meet Oni.”

“Both of you named your pets after food,” Usopp deadpans as he twists in his chair to rest his chin on the wooden back.  “You’re just alike.”

“Sausage is such a stupid name,” Nami criticizes harshly across the room, finally looking up from her phone.  “She’s so much cuter than that.”

“She’s my little sausage!” Luffy cradles the small dog in his arms as he returns to the table to finish his game.  Her black head rests against his shirt as she blinks into sleep.

“She sure is cute,” Chopper coos from his seat, reaching over and gently stroking the dog’s small head.  “I wish Franky and Robin would get a pet.”

“They have one,” Zoro teases with a smirk as he finishes off his bottle of beer.  He moves to grab another one from the kitchen, tousling Chopper’s mop of brown hair as he walks by.  “His name is Chopper.”

“Hey!”

As he swings open the fridge door, Zoro glances at the digital clock on the stove.  9:23. He’d planned on trapping his latest victim tonight but with work being so unpredictable and the surmounting pressure of figuring out what to do with Sanji, he’d made the decision to wait.  The last thing he needs is another fuck up because his head isn’t in the right place. Drumming his fingers on the handle, he frowns as his mind wanders back to his interaction with the blond man earlier.  He cracked, letting Sanji affect him like that.

Though it feels good to be around his friends again, his night’s been tainted with these thoughts.  He can’t concentrate on anything but the gnawing feeling in the pit of his gut telling him he needs to make a decision.  After what happened earlier, it’s exceptionally necessary. What he’s doing isn’t right -- if the man in his basement isn’t guilty, he doesn’t deserve to be taking small pleasures in simply being allowed to walk around a room freely.  Every time he analyzes the case on paper, it seems air tight but after he heard that description from Sanji today and saw that look in his eyes... Zoro sighs. The answer should be obvious.

Grabbing another bottle of Budweiser, he twists off the top and tosses it into the nearby trash can.  He gulps down a mouthful as he returns to the living room, settling back in is place on the couch. The trio at the table seem to be arguing over some more rules of the game as Law watches on with a bored expression.  Typical game night.

“What’re you doing tomorrow night?”

Zoro glances over to where Nami’s curled up in the armchair, a sly smile on her face.  “Don’t know.”

“Well,” she starts as shifts her position, tucking her legs underneath her.  “I have a friend I think you should meet. He’s totally your type.”

“What type is that?” Zoro asks gruffly as he takes another long pull from his bottle.  Over the last six months or so Nami’s become obsessed with trying to find him a match. She always has these “friends” she wants to set him up with.  It’s a pain in the ass that he doesn’t need.

“Macho, boring, kinda stupid,” she responds with a giggle and a shrewd look in her hazel eyes.  “Just like you! You’ll get along great.”

Law snorts from his seat.  “Sounds about right.”

“Fuck you.”  Zoro scowls as he glances over and finds Law giving him the finger.  “I’ll kick your ass, Trafalgar.”

“Whatever.”

He turns back to Nami, who’s still grinning at him with an evil gleam in her hazel eyes.  “Not interested.”

“Come on, Zoro! You need to get out more,” Nami berates him with an exasperated sigh.  “You should have someone or something in your life! All you do is work and then you go home and work some more.”  Her tone softens. “It would do you good.”

He looks to his left and spies Chopper’s worried expression as he listens to Nami’s rant.  Usopp too. Taking another gulp of beer, Zoro rolls his eye and concedes, “Fine. This one time.  When?”

“Tomorrow at Shakky’s.  Nine sharp! Don’t be late!”

 

* * *

 

Resting his forehead against the cool door  to the basement, Zoro takes a deep breath. Can’t keep waiting forever.  Spent the last two hours upstairs rewatching Sanji’s footage, reading the case, and making conclusions.  He enters swiftly and glances to the man laying in bed, blinking blearily at him. The digital clock on the workbench reads a little past two in the morning.  It’s late, he knows, but this has been on his mind all night.

“What’s going on?” Sanji asks with a yawn as Zoro closes the door.  The last time the man came down in the middle of the night like this was when he was carrying in his prey.  This time he comes empty handed with an unreadable expression on his face. It piques Sanji’s curiosity enough to sit up and run a hand through his hair.  He fleetingly wonders if this is about earlier.

Zoro shuffles across the room and sits cross-legged on the floor next to Sanji’s mattress.  A heavy silence hangs between them as he stares at the man’s inquisitive look. “Remember you asked why I do this?”

Nodding slowly, Sanji shifts to press his back against the wall facing Zoro and hugs his knees to his chest.  During his time in the basement, he’s seen Zoro in a range of moods -- intense, rageful, passionate, focused, bored, amused, caring. The man presented before him has a completely different aura than any other version of Zoro he’s met.   _Somber_.  Unsure of where this is going, Sanji waits for the man to continue what he has to say.

“Had a partner when I was a street cop,” Zoro starts to explain, brows furrowing as the words leave his mouth.  He hasn’t told this to anyone except Luffy and that was so long ago. “She was better -- smarter. Always wanted to be a detective.  On the fast track to it.”

Sanji’s brows raise slightly as he listens intently, having never expected Zoro to confide anything in him given how he’d reacted to the question previously.  He remains motionless and quiet, wanting to hear more, completely captivated by how the hardened killer seems to be cracking right before him.

“We were pursuing this dealer one night.  Dumb fuck ran off and we chased him.” Zoro pauses and clenches a fist at his side, every bit of rage he has inside him bubbling up.  He continues harshly, “Some big fucker was hiding in the shadows and grabbed me. Could’ve shoved him off but then it happened. One gunshot and she was down.”

Zoro hears an audible inhale from Sanji but he doesn’t pay it any mind, instead he keeps his gaze focused on the ankle cuffs, willing him to go on.  “Right in the head. Shocked me good. That’s when the guy pulled out a knife and carved me shoulder to hip.” He sighs as lifts his shirt, quickly flashing Sanji a view of the jagged scar.  “Ran off. Left me bleeding to death next to my partner’s dead body.”

Gazing sadly at the man’s scar, it’s clear evidence that Sanji’s captor is human too, as if the grisly eye scar wasn’t enough. Proof that he too can be cut, can be affected. He stares on as Zoro trails his fingers across his clothed torso, tracing the scar’s location and mesmerizing Sanji in its tragic tale. He can still see in underneath the shirt, brief as the sight had been, it’s now forever etched in his mind.

“Fuckers were arrested when I was in the hospital.”  Zoro’s fingers ghost over the fabric of his shirt, following the grooves of his scar hypnotically as he’s done so many times before.  Bitterness soaks his tone as he recounts further, “Guy who got me was thrown in the slammer. Guy who got her,” He pauses, finally lifting his eye to meet Sanji’s gaze.  He glares hard, wanting to see every second of the man’s reaction. “He got off with a technicality. Lawyered up over police brutality. Fucker won.”

Staring into the deep fissures in his eyes, Sanji feels a pang of guilt strike him unexpectedly as Zoro reveals to him the depths of what he does and why. Even if that feeling is illogical, he nonetheless feels shame for not seeing this man as human like him, like most in the world. Zoro’s story is rapidly dispersing the remnants of his psycho serial killer persona, unveiling him as the vulnerable human being sitting at the foot of the mattress now. Zoro had been made to suffer a horrifying loss. Not only this, but the system had failed him too.

“The system is broken.  Promised myself I’d get rid of the scum.  Promised her.” Zoro sucks in a deep breath, overwhelmed slightly by the sheer sympathy and understanding he finds in Sanji’s gaze.  Lowering his stare back to the ankle cuffs, he finishes with a sigh, “That’s when I started this. He was the first one.”

Sanji unfurls his knees from his chest, chains chiming as he stretches his legs out. He feels all too comfortable, all of a sudden. Compassion pools in his body, causing him to finally release any tensions that were left as he nestles deep into the headspace of an intrinsically good man. He smiles genuinely. Beneath this facade, Zoro’s heart is definitely in the right place.

“I understand,” Sanji says gently. “You don’t need to say anything else. I understand.”

Zoro lowers his head in shame as Sanji’s acceptance blankets him.  This response confirms everything he’d decided upstairs. Nodding silently, he digs into his pocket and wraps his hand around his keys.  There’s no turning back from here and he truly deserves everything that’s to come after. He leans forward and unlocks the cuffs around Sanji’s ankles, dropping the key on the bed after he’s done.  As he stands, he finds the puzzled expression he expected on the man’s face.

“C’mon,” he commands resolutely, offering Sanji a hand.  “I’m letting you go.”

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

Zoro stares down at the shocked expression on Sanji’s face, hand still outstretched as an offer to assist the man up.  After a few still beats of them staring at each other, Sanji not moving at all, he twists to stride to his workbench. He has some stuff he needs to get rid of.  Unlocking a drawer and grabbing what he needs, he returns to the foot of the bed and tosses two familiar objects to Sanji’s lap.

His keys and wallet.

Not waiting for a reaction, Zoro walks to the door and swings it open, beckoning the man still seated on the mattress, “C’mon.”

Nodding slowly, Sanji rises to his feet and follows behind him up the narrow stairs, through the trapdoor, and right into his bedroom.  Zoro’s head is spinning as he stands again, surreal to see one of his victims actually climbing out of the hole of his closet and into his real life.  But he remains deadly calm -- completely firm in his resolve, knowing this is the right thing to do. He hasn’t been able to shake the sneaking suspicion that Sanji’s case may not be what it seems and to continue trapping an innocent man in such disturbing conditions would be wrong.  

It’s already been wrong.

Zoro moves across the room and picks up a scrap of paper he has lying on his dresser -- already prepared for when he descended to the basement earlier.  “Here,” he says as he thrusts it towards Sanji. “This is my boss’ information. Lieutenant Dracule Mihawk.” He waits until Sanji takes the paper from him, blue eyes reading over the slip.  “Call him and he’ll take care of you. He’s a good man, he’ll handle it right.”

“Handle it right,” Sanji quietly repeats, thumb tracing over the name and number.  Oni slinks her way into the bedroom, purring and rubbing against the man’s thin leg at the most inopportune time.  Sanji surprisingly takes a moment to lean down and pat the little cat on her head with affection.

Zoro rubs the back of his neck as he offers options to the man, unsure what approach to take.  “Want me to call you a cab? Or take you somewhere?” He digs his cell phone out of his pocket. “Wanna call Mihawk right now?”

“No, no,” Sanji says quickly with a shake of his head as he stands straight again.  “Honestly I just want a hot shower and my bed.” A lull of silence passes between them as Zoro watches Sanji chew on his bottom lip.  Finally, the man sighs and asks, “Can you take me home?”

Slightly taken aback, Zoro agrees solemnly.  It’s the last option he expected Sanji to choose.  He leads the blond man into the living room, stopping to slide on his shoes and find his keys before they head out into the dead of night.  As Zoro pauses to lock the door, he notices Sanji stare up to the moon high in the sky, an obvious look of relief lighting up his face under the pale light.  It causes a whole new wave of shame to rip through him.

They make fast work getting into the car and starting their journey back to the city, no words passed between them.  Zoro keeps his eyes glued to the road before him, the weight of his decisions firmly planted on his shoulders and bogging him down.  He left Luffy’s place before eleven and spent hours in his room contemplating Sanji’s case. The little voice in the back of his mind urged him to make a decision and with the uneasiness storming tumultuously in his gut every time he thought of killing the man, he found himself considering just letting Sanji go.  Instantly his discomfort quelled. It felt right. His decision was only further solidified when he saw compassion radiating from the man after hearing about Kuina. Everything else didn’t seem to matter anymore -- he just knew he had to do what felt right.

Even if doing what’s feels right means his life is over.

Zoro swallows hard and glares at the empty road.  Once Sanji calls Mihawk, he’ll be arrested on the spot, booked, charged, held without bond.  Even if all his meticulous efforts pay off and he can’t be traced back to the people he’s killed, there’s certainly sufficient evidence for kidnapping and keeping Sanji as prisoner.  Couldn’t -- and _wouldn’t_ \-- even deny that.  And if it turns out in a twist of fate that the blond man in his passenger seat truly is the murderer Zoro suspected him to be, then this is well-deserved punishment for a moment of weakness.  In either scenario, he’s prepared to face his condemnation headstrong.

Back in the city, Zoro navigates to Sanji’s house as best as he can on memory.  Sanji helps him a bit with a couple points of his finger, but never once does he speak. When he rolls up into the recognizable neighborhood and into the driveway of the small townhome, he finally glances to the passenger seat.  Surprisingly, Sanji is staring right back at him, expression blank.

“Name and address are on that slip,” Zoro explains quietly, knuckles white as he clenches the steering wheel.  He looks into Sanji’s eyes and speaks as sincerely as he can, “Shouldn’t have happened like this.”

Sanji wordlessly grips the handle of the car door and swings it open, his bare feet landing on the soft grass as he exits the vehicle.  He gives Zoro one last look and then shuts the door closed, watching as the white SUV wastes no time backing out of the driveway. His stare lingers on the dark street even after the taillights have disappeared into the pitch black of the early morning hours.  

He turns to face his home, a foreign mix of relief and emptiness filling him at the sight.  With a heavy sigh, he trudges across the short lawn to the doorstep, tugging the keys from his pocket and letting himself into his townhouse for the first time in three weeks.  He’s met with darkness. As he closes and locks up behind him, his hands search for the switch on the wall. The tiny foyer illuminates, the yellow light casting shadows over his modest living room.  Crossing the space to the kitchen situated in the back, he takes notice that not a single item seems to be out of order. It’s as though he wasn’t gone for such a long time -- like this is a normal night coming home.

Another light on in the kitchen, his gaze spots something that is out of the ordinary on his counter.  He quickly moves to examine it, interested in what it could be. A printed bus schedule with a route to Zeff’s hometown in Massachusetts circled.  Sanji shakes his head, a smirk threatening his lips. Clever. That’s exactly where he’d go if he ever ran off for a few days. He crumples the paper in his hand and tosses it into the trash can, pausing when he notices it’s empty.  One of the irrational things on his mind while he was in the basement was how much the trash would stink up his house. Eyebrows raising, he leans against the counter, realizing Zoro must’ve discarded it when setting his story up. Makes sense -- who goes out of town with a can full of trash?  Seems the bastard thought of everything. It’s got Sanji’s mind all jumbled, unable to even still comprehend that he’s standing in his own kitchen right now, completely safe and free.

Taking a deep breath, he pushes himself off the counter and turns off all the lights. A hot shower would do his mind and body good.  He jogs up the stairs and flips the switch in his bedroom, stopping in the doorway to inspect the space. Despite the struggle he remembers facing when Zoro first snuck up on him, everything is in order.  Sanji taps his fingers against the doorframe and cautiously enters the room, eyes scanning for any evidence that an attacker was in lying in wait three weeks ago. He checks behind the door, under both sides of the bed, the closet, the ensuite bathroom.  Nothing can be found. Completely perplexed, he looks up and catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror. His appearance is ragged -- dirty, worn, in desperate need of a haircut and a shave. He reaches into the shower and wrenches on the faucet, turning it all the way up.  Leaving the room to let the water warm, he stands in front of his wooden dresser and tugs open a drawer for some real clothes.

That’s when he spots it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he finds what he wanted to see.  A bottle of cologne on the left hand side of his dresser in the same place it’s always been.  A sly grin forms on his face as he delicately reaches over and ghosts his fingertips on the glass.  The cap is askew, leaving the expensive bottle partially open. He only wears this fragrance to major events and special occasions.  This isn’t something he left awry. Stare fixed on the cap, he feels a sense of relief enrapture him. This is from Zoro. A mistake.  A piece of the puzzle he didn’t solve for. The methodical man isn’t as perfect as he seems and no matter how small this may be, it gives Sanji a sense of triumph.  It’s proof that Zoro was in his home. That something happened between them in this room -- even if he’s the only person who may ever notice it.

Eyes still on the bottle, he reaches a hand into the opened drawer for a pair of boxers and is surprised when he feels something else out of the ordinary.  He pulls out his phone and stares at it for a brief moment before trying to turn it on. Dead. Moving to the bedside table, he swiftly plugs it in and leaves it to charge as he gathers the clothes he needs for his shower.  Back in the bathroom, he strips himself of the dirty sweats and t-shirt. Without hesitation, he steps into the shower and audibly sighs at the feeling of the scalding water hitting his body.

It’s the first time in weeks he’s felt so at peace.

After a few minutes of standing still under the cascading water, he begins the process of scouring every part of his body.  Every inch of skin, every strand of hair, everywhere soap and water can touch is carefully cleaned. It’s the longest shower of his life and by the time he’s content with his cleanliness, a heavy exhaustion has begun overtaking his mind and body.  Water off, curtain open, towel in hand -- he’s hastily dried and dressed in his own comfortable clothes that fit him right. Standing in front of the mirror again, he goes through the motions of scrutinously brushing his teeth and trimming his face.  Unable to do anything about his hair for the current moment, he manages to find a hair-tie and pulls it back into a small ponytail.

Towel hung to dry, he stops and scoops up the pile of clothes he left on the bathroom floor.  Searching the pockets, his fingers wrap around the piece of paper Zoro left him. Sanji makes his way into the bedroom and tosses the dirty items into the hamper, laying on his bed with the note still in hand.  The feeling of his own mattress is divine and he savors the softness of his pillows with a newfound regard. Once he’s comfortably tucked in, he returns his attention back to the slip. The name and information of a Lieutenant Dracule Mihawk is scrawled in a messy script.  He flips it over and across the back in the same handwriting is Zoro Roronoa’s address. Sanji runs a thumb over the name, mind drifting back to the deep fissures of emotion he saw in that man’s dark stare just a few hours ago. Passion, vulnerability, hurt. It was all on display for him to see.

Sanji sets the slip down on the bedside table and picks up his phone, the screen lighting up with his movement.  He unlocks the device and scrolls to see what messages he may have missed. A hollow ache hits him in the chest as he finds only a handful texts and missed calls.  Patty and Carne mostly -- the last text being just a few days ago from the latter asking if he’s returning to work soon. Not a single one seems alarmed. He locks the screen and gently places it back on the table.  Shifting to curl on his side, he listens to the soft sounds of birds chirping outside his window as the early stirrings of dawn start to light up his bedroom. Allowing his heavy eyelids to droop closed, he finds himself lulled to sleep with images of Zoro’s open and sincere stare faintly crossing his mind.

 

* * *

 

Zoro wipes the sweat from his brow onto the shoulder of his t-shirt, chest heaving as he rests his hands on his hips and looks over his morning work.  Deep in the shed out back, he’s dug a hole in the ground and hid in it most of his tools and weapons from his workbench. All the shit he took from evidence and crime scenes he’d kept.  His handsaw. His knives. The only things left behind untouched are the mattress and cuffs. The items he used on Sanji.

The hole was under loose floorboards of the shed, now completely patched and fitted over the hiding place.  With luck, he can simply plea bargain his charges for kidnapping and forced imprisonment and stall any murder investigations. He knows how the budget cuts have impacted their work lately -- most of the city’s dollars are sunk into the electrocution case.  If they do search his property for evidence, he highly doubts they’d spring to excavate the place.

Content with his accomplishment, Zoro locks up the shed and heads back towards the house, the mid-morning sun pounding down on him with fury.  The sweat rolling down his back mixes with the strong smell of soot and cleaning products, creating a stench that becoming intolerable to even him.  Back inside, he directs his route straight to the shower, wanting to scrub off his weary night. Not bothering to wait for the water to warm up, he steps into the cold stream and stands beneath the spray as it heats.

After he dropped off Sanji last night, Zoro came home and went down into the basement.  There was no way he could sleep -- his mind completely taken with what he’d just done and the life sentence in prison he’s about to face.  Deciding instead to sort out his thoughts, he’d busied himself with scrubbing down his incinerator to rid it of any lingering evidence. Knowing nothing smells more suspicious in a crime scene than bleach, he’d done it the old fashioned way with soap and scalding water.  It was tough but satisfying work and by the end of it, he’d made complete peace with saying goodbye to life as he knows it.

Frowning as he cleans his hair, Zoro’s mind wanders to the only loose end that remains: his friends.  The only regret he has is how much this decision is going to hurt them. Law will despise him -- his own partner being one of those bastards they work so hard to put away.  Usopp and Nami will be horrified, completely sickened by his actions. Chopper. A twinge of pain hits Zoro in the gut as he turns to rinse the suds from his body. Little guy doesn’t deserve this.

Zoro shuts off the faucet and wrenches back the shower curtain, grabbing a towel and slinging it around his waist.  Luffy’s the one friend who might understand why he does what he does -- might even support it a bit. He’s always been unconventional, living in a world all his own.  But he can’t know. Zoro stops in front of his sink and lazily applies deodorant, looking himself over in the mirror as he moves. In order to make Luffy understand, he’d have to tell him all of his secrets.  Make him some kind of accomplice. Guilty by association. Zoro simply can’t do that to his best friend. Meeting the dark stare of his reflection, he grips the sides of the counter and leans forward, gazing with a foreboding intensity.  The foggy echo of himself returns the glare with a resolute scowl and they nod at one another with understanding. He’d rather his friends hate him than put them at risk.

Back in his bedroom, Zoro quickly dresses in a pair of sweats and an old favorite tee.  Booking is a long, annoying process and he wants to be as comfortable as possible. He glances at the digital clock next to his bed and raises an eyebrow at the time.  Almost noon. He figured Sanji would’ve called Mihawk by now but maybe he slept in. Only thing left to do is wait. Moseying down the hall, Zoro plops down into his recliner and smiles gently when he sees Oni perched on the top of the couch.

“Oni,” he calls her in a low voice, patting his lap.  “C’mere.”

The little cat blinks open her eyes and stands into a long stretch before she hops across the couch and over into his lap.  Nipping at his fingers lightly, she nuzzles her nose into his hand and curls up on his thigh to return to her nap. Zoro idly runs his hand over her tiny head, eyes forward on the front window facing his driveway.  He’d considered just turning himself in but didn’t want to take the satisfaction from the man he’d held captive. Something he’s learned during his time as law enforcement -- people need that sense of control. Eyes drooping closed, he allows himself to lightly doze, still alert enough to hear when fate knocks at his door.

 

* * *

 

“Been a couple weeks, thought you might’ve quit.”

Sanji chuckles lightly as the cashier hands him his normal two packs of cigarettes.  He swipes his card to pay as he responds, “Thought about it.” He looks up at the man behind the drugstore counter, giving him friendly eyes.  “But they keep me sane.”

“I feel ya,” the man says with a nod as he rips off Sanji’s receipt and passes it to him.  “See you tomorrow!”

Tucking the paper into the pocket of his jeans, Sanji gives the attendant a small wave and strolls out the door.  He stops at the trash can by the entrance and hastily tears off the plastic wrapping, tapping the pack of cigarettes in his palm before digging one out.  Two flicks of his lighter and the sweet comfort of smoke fills of his lungs. He exhales with a sigh and begins his short walk home. The corner store is only about fifteen minutes from his townhouse and less than ten minutes from the restaurant.  Pausing at the intersection to wait for his signal to cross, Sanji glances back in the opposite direction towards the Baratie. He’d laid in bed for an hour this morning contemplating going in but the thought alone was too overwhelming. Instead he’d called up and had a good talk with Patty.  Explained he’d be in Monday -- there’s quite a bit for him to work out this weekend after being gone so long. The man had just laughed and told him to take his time. Rest assured, the Baratie had survived without him the last few weeks. Sanji knew the comment was supposed to be comforting but it left a hollowness within him.

The little man displays on the light across the street and he buries his hands in his pockets, head low as he makes his way to the otherside of the roadway.  Cutting across his small shortcut, he’s back home in a jiff, cigarette spent by the time he reaches his driveway. He scrapes the butt against the concrete before unlocking the door, quick to dispose of the trash once inside.  With a heavy sigh, he empties his pocket onto the kitchen counter and digs out another stick. Lit cigarette between his lips, he opens the door to his refrigerator, nose scrunching when the dank stench of bad food hits his nostrils.  Bending forward, he tugs open the produce drawers and scopes out the damage. Rotten head of lettuce, squishy strawberries, foul leftovers, a completely flaccid cucumber -- perfectly good food now completely inedible.

Not one to waste, Sanji collects the spoiled materials and slides through the door behind his kitchen table leading to his small patio and yard.  He dumps the items into the compost bin he has near his garden, smiling as he sees his tomato and pepper plants survived even while he was gone. He’d just potted them about a week prior to the incident in preparation for summer.  With a little more pep to his step, he returns indoors and gets to work scrubbing the fridge in hopes to rid it of the stale food smells.

Having spent all afternoon cleaning and sorting out his bills, Sanji finally sits at the table as he stares at the small slip of paper in his hand.  Exhaling smoke onto the scratchy scrawl, he plucks his cigarette from his lips and rests it in the ashtray on the table. Dracule Mihawk. Zoro had said this man would ‘handle it right.’  Maybe a few weeks ago, Sanji would have been suspicious of some sort of conspiracy but after he saw the intense resolve in the man’s stare, he knows Zoro’s serious. He smirks to himself as he turns the slip over in his fingers.  Zoro’s hardass boss is probably why he works such long hours. Zeff was like that. Always pulled twelve, thirteen hour days.

Glancing at his phone resting on the table to his right, Sanji rubs his thumb over the information on the paper and leans back in his chair.  He’d had to endure three weeks of his life in that basement and he came back to his life completely normal -- as though nothing had happened at all.  He lifts his eyes to the pale blue kitchen walls, studying the most comforting room in his home and finding the only emotion it evokes is loneliness. Stretching to retrieve his cigarette from the ashtray, he inhales deeply and tries to put himself back in the mindset of being imprisoned on that mattress.  

The weeks he’d spent in Zoro’s basement had been the most peculiar mix of boring and terrifying.  So much time was spent focused on finding his way out and getting home -- completely consumed by what he was missing in the outside world.  He lets out an amused snort as he exhales another cloud of smoke. Yesterday had been the weirdest day of all. He learned so much about Zoro and the situation he was put in.  They made progress. Leave it to that strange man to be the shittiest host for weeks and then let kick him out as soon as things got interesting. Sanji sighs and stubs out his finished smoke, so many unanswered questions in his mind.  Luckily he has an answer to the biggest one written on the slip of paper right before him. Determined to settle the feeling that’s been gnawing at him all day, he resolves to quit stalling this next step and reaches for his phone.

Zoro wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing in his pocket.  He stirs with a grunt and locates the buzzing device, squinting at the brightness of the screen in his dark living room.  He raises an eyebrow when he sees it’s Nami. Ignoring the call, he looks at his messages and reads the two texts she’d sent.  Reminders for that date he’d agreed to go on. He rests the device on the arm of the chair, completely disregarding the small ding his phone makes notifying him of a voicemail.   That’s the last thing on his mind right now.

Stretching and glancing around the shadows of his living space, Zoro checks the time on his phone and is surprised it’s already past nine.  Must’ve napped longer than anticipated. He frowns as he looks at his phone again to make sure he has nothing from Mihawk or Law. Not a word.  Slightly confused, he sets the device aside again and rests his arms behind his head. Police always handle it delicately when one of their own is accused of a crime.  Maybe Mihawk isn’t as hardened as he thought and Sanji’s stuck at the station dealing with a formal process.

A soft grin forms on Zoro’s lips as he hears the unmistakable sound of Oni crunching on her kibble in the kitchen.  It leaves a sad ache in his chest, knowing once he’s put away he’ll never see her again. One of his friends will take her in -- he’s sure of it.  Usopp in particular has always loved the little cat. Maybe it’ll be him. Moving a hand to rub his tired eyes, Zoro sighs heavily as he leans forward in the chair.  Doesn’t even feel like he has a right to be sad over anything at this point.

A flash of headlights illuminating the living room through the window catches his attention as he raises his head.  Heart thumping wildly in his chest, Zoro watches as a car pulls up and idles in the driveway for a brief minute before the lights dim, returning the space back to darkness.  Mihawk must’ve decided to come and pick him up inconspicuously. It’s reasonable considering the headache Smoker’s had with their other case. Zoro had hoped he’d go in quietly.

Standing and squaring his shoulders, he only pauses to take a deep breath.  No regret, no remorse, no sorrow. This is what’s right. A knock sounds on his door and he takes confident strides to meet destiny headstrong.  Whatever punishment is waiting for him, he will be able to handle it with ease knowing it all hadn’t been in vain. He’d rid the world of Kuina’s killer and saved so many others by cleaning up the streets.  One mistake doesn’t unravel the positive he’d done. It’s just finally his time.

Zoro hardens his expression and swings open the front door, hand already raised to show he’s willing to cooperate.  Expecting to be met with Mihawk’s piercing glare, he’s completely bewildered when he finds himself pinned by a familiar deep blue gaze.  It only serves to increase the pace of his heartbeat, pulse racing madly at the sight of the other man. Seems he’s always full of unexpected surprises.  A subtle smirk crosses Sanji’s lips as he disconnects their gazes and glances to Zoro’s arm still hanging dumbly in the air.

Quickly opening the door wider, Zoro searches the darkness behind the man, perplexed to find only one lone car sits in his driveway and no indication that any others are following.  Letting his heavy stare fall on Sanji again, he questions with puzzlement, “Where’s Mihawk? The cops?”

“Didn’t call them,” Sanji says simply as he slides past Zoro and into the house.

Zoro closes the door behind him and leans against it, trying to sort out his thoughts.  It’s surprising that he hasn’t been turned in and the fact that his prior captive is standing before him is downright astonishing.  It briefly crosses his mind that Sanji could’ve come back to take out some sort of revenge but deep down, Zoro knows that isn’t how this man is.  It’s a part of why he was convinced to let him go. He slides his fingers against the wall and finds the switch to the foyer light, bathing them in an orange glow.  Crossing his arms in front of him, he looks at Sanji expectantly, interested to know why this man came back after being freed.

Sanji shifts his gaze to settle anywhere that isn’t Zoro. The nervous trepidation he felt the entire car ride over pacified the moment he found himself in the man’s presence.  The exact feeling he was hoping to find. That comfortable spark he felt in the basement as he received such authenticity from Zoro had been real. Electrifying -- completely unlike anything before.  It’s buzzed in his mind all day, occupying every nook and crevice of his consciousness until he felt he had no other option but to come back and validate its existence. All of his vacant spaces seem to be filling quickly with the tension rising between them as silence lingers.  With nowhere else to lay his eyes, he takes a deep breath and lets himself be caught in Zoro’s heavy stare.

Feeling the coal black swallowing him in the most delicious of ways, Sanji is wholly aware of the same stirring within him that’d gripped him to the bone yesterday afternoon.  The way Zoro’s eyes seem to convey so much and so little at the same time captivates him, entices him to take a step forward. Zoro doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, utterly grounded in his spot, only his pupil widening at the motion.  Sanji takes this as an invitation, a silent gesture of intrigue and he walks two more paces until he’s in the man’s space. Breathless with anticipation, his body moves on autopilot and he gives in to whatever it desires. Sanji slowly raises his hand to brush his fingers against Zoro’s shoulder, his fingertips guiding along the path of the scar he knows is hidden beneath the cotton of his shirt.  He’d managed to memorize every dip and groove of its powerful existence. Pulse racing, he’s pleased at how sturdy Zoro remains beneath his touch, unwavering and accepting as Sanji gazes deeply into the warmth buried in his cold eyes. Mesmerized entirely, Sanji breaks every chain binding him and leans forward, sealing their lips in an invigorating kiss.

Zoro stalls for only a fleeting second to get his bearings and dives fervently into their kiss, a dam breaking and flooding his chest with a pent-up attraction he’d held onto for far too long.  This sudden change in their strange relationship has his head spinning, his heart thumping, his skin heating, and his body urging him for more. Wrapping his arms around Sanji’s thin waist, he loses himself in their desires, mouths brushing against each other as their passionate exchange rapidly heightens to desperation, tongues searching, teeth biting, hands exploring with an uncontained need.  Their lips briefly separate and he takes the opportunity to reach up a hand grip a fistful of blond hair, tugging Sanji’s head back to attack his throat with his tongue and lips. The action pulls a moaning gasp from the man’s thin lips and it only serves to make his cock throb with want. Totally unsure of what any of this means and finding himself incapable of caring at this current moment, Zoro lets his carnal lust take over.  By the way Sanji’s hips are grinding into his, he can tell this is what the blond needs too.

Sanji groans again at the feeling of a strong hand gripping his hair in a powerful hold, allowing himself to be handled in such a delectably rough way.  It has him aching for more, wanting to be filled by everything Zoro can give him. He teasingly shimmies out of the compelling grasp and when that sexy glare pins him again, he gives Zoro sultry eyes, motioning towards where he knows the bedroom to be.  The man’s response is a carnal grin, gaze smouldering into Sanji as he nods and pulls their bodies flush again. Their lips connect once more with fervor, Zoro backing them up towards the bedroom one agonizing step at a time. Sanji protests the slow pace with a bite to Zoro’s bottom lip, earning himself a deep, rumbling groan and a bruising grip on his waist.  Suddenly his back hits the wall and he’s punished for his disobedience with a cruel thrust of Zoro’s hips against his, their hard lengths grinding together through their jeans. He feels a sense of loss the moment Zoro pulls away until he’s filled again by capable fingers clutching his jaw and stealing his lips in another searing kiss.

By the time his calves hit the edge of the bed, Sanji is panting against Zoro’s lips, cock throbbing in anticipation of what’s to come.  Utterly addicted to Zoro’s control, Sanji gives the man a taunting smirk and leans into whisper against his ear, “I want it hard.”

Spine tingling with absolute hunger for Sanji’s body, the whispered request is all Zoro needs to hear to take the next step.  In an instant he has Sanji shoved back onto the bed, heart thundering his pulse straight to his cock as he wrenches open a bedside table, dismissing the drawer when it tumbles to the ground.  Lube and condom located, he tosses the items to the side of the bed and stares down at the man displayed before him, giving him a smug grin. Shirt off, pants unbuckled, he stops only to strip Sanji roughly of his clothes, licking his lips at the pale flesh glowing under the moon’s light.  Eyes connecting with intensity, Zoro allows the lust-filled stare wash over him, the erection in his pants aching to be freed. Wanting this to last as long as possible, Zoro ignores his need and slicks his fingers with the earlier abandoned lube, never once separating their gazes.

Sanji can’t hold back the moan that escapes his lips the moment Zoro’s rough fingers prod him, fingering him to preparation.  Eyes closed as a hot tongue trails down his body, he gasps when that heat swallows around his cock. It takes everything inside him not to come right then and there.  Unable to handle more than a couple minutes of teasing and stretching, he bucks his hips into Zoro’s mouth, knowing he’s so close to climax. His eyes fly open what suddenly he’s met with a cold emptiness in both places, a deep chuckle escaping Zoro’s chest as the pompous bastard sits up and grins down at him.  Before he can even protest, Sanji’s world is turned upside down as he feels himself flipped onto his chest, hands gruffly angling him onto his knees.

Zoro wastes no time positioning himself, cock slick with lube.  It only takes one thrust to fill Sanji’s heat, surrounding him with burning ecstasy.  He feels Sanji’s body stiffen for a small second and then the tension is swiftly dispelled.  Zoro’s hips are met with Sanji grinding back into him and he’s quick to oblige their desires, finding a tantalizing rhythm that steals a sensual moan from the blond’s lips with every thrust.  He grips thin hips in a bruising hold with his right hand and leans forward, fisting a hand of blond hair in his left as he continues to pound mercilessly into Sanji. The action seems to entice the man more, his moaning getting louder and more desperate with every elevating second.  Grunting with every movement, Zoro can’t help but grin as a hand desperately reaches back to grip his forearm in a painful grasp, a louder groan leaving the blond as he hits a particularly sweet spot. Zoro finds that position again and again and again, the music singing from Sanji’s mouth cajoling him to orgasm.  He feels Sanji shudder beneath him after one last cry and it’s enough to surge him over edge, coming hard in his last few thrusts. The sheer magnitude of his climax makes him lightheaded and he clenches his eyes shut, breathing heavily as he rides it out.

The moment Zoro pulls from him, Sanji crashes against the soft mattress and rolls onto his back, chest heaving as he recovers with the intensity of his spasms.  Zoro falls onto his back next to him, apparently in the serenity of his own comedown. They remain silent, only the sounds of their breathing filling the dark room.  Unsure of what he should say, Sanji is partially relieved when Zoro hauls himself off the bed and disappears behind a door on the same wall. The sound of running water informs Sanji that it’s a bathroom and he closes his eyes, listening to each movement.  The door opens again and he’s surprised when he feels a warm damp cloth vigorously rubbing him clean. The sensation disappears and the other side of the mattress dips with the weight of its owner settling back in bed.

Sighing heavily, Sanji awkwardly lifts onto his elbows and glances to Zoro lying to his left, illuminated under the moonlight shining from a nearby window.  The man’s heavy stare is already turned up at him, completely unreadable expression on his face. Sanji raises a hand to run his fingers through the long fringe of hair in his face, casually offering, “I can leave.”

Zoro’s expression doesn’t change as he responds, “If you want.”

A comfortable feeling blankets Sanji at the lackadaisical reply.  Deciding to test the waters, he allows himself to ask what’s truly resting on his mind.  “Or I can stay?”

Once again Zoro’s expression doesn’t change but something in his stare cracks, an unknown emotion that Sanji’s never before seen.  With a curt shrug, the man simply answers, “If you want.”

Nodding slowly, Sanji reaches down and finds his abandoned boxers on floor near the bed.  Just as he slides them on and prepares to stand, a strong arm snakes around his middle and he’s tugged back into Zoro’s warm embrace.  Unable to keep a smile from forming on his lips, Sanji presses his cheek against Zoro’s shoulder, listening to the rise and fall of the man’s chest until he’s lulled into sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first time 100% writing Sanji POV in a really long time. hopefully it came out okay. 
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed!


	10. Chapter 10

“Zoro! It’s me! Your door was unlocked so I came in and --”

Eyes flying open, Zoro jolts into a sitting position at the sound of Luffy’s voice clamoring in his living room.  Fuck. Never locked up last night. He looks down at Sanji’s stirring form still tucked under the sheets and then twists to stare at his open bedroom door.  He can already hear the clacking of sandals echoing in the hallway in an excited trot -- no use even trying to hide the man in his bed. Running a hand through his messy hair, he simply sighs and braces himself for what’s to come.  

“ -- Nami’s so mad at you for not showing up last night so Law brought me here to see you and whoa!”

Luffy stops in the doorway, eyes widening at the sight of Zoro postured cross-armed in bed shoulder-to-shoulder with the half naked blond who chose that exact moment to sit up next to him.  Momentarily speechless -- a rare occurrence -- Luffy looks first at Sanji, then to Zoro, and then right back at Sanji, toothy grin shining brightly on his face.

“Hey! I’m Luffy! Who’re you?”

Surprised to have been woken up by the uproar of this stranger gawking at him from Zoro’s doorway, Sanji pauses for a beat, sucking in a sharp breath as he tries to sort out his thoughts.  But the man continues to stare at him expectantly, his wide smile utterly infectious and captivating. Instantly he’s drawn to learn more about him. Unsure of what to do, Sanji glances to Zoro for guidance.  Despite how warm and inviting this person seems, ultimately it’s not his decision to be in Zoro’s life in this capacity.

“Gimme a minute,” Zoro grouses as he rubs his tired eyes.  

“Sure, okay! Law’s out front with Sausage trying to get her to poop!” 

Unable to make sense of that entire statement, Sanji watches with puzzled amusement as the dark-haired stranger reaches in and slams the door closed.  He sits for an awkward moment before turning to study Zoro, the man’s expression still blank as his gaze stays fixed on where his friend just stood. “So,” Sanji begins quietly, clearing his throat.  “Your friend is interesting.”

“He is,” Zoro agrees, finally tearing his stare away from the door and shifting to face Sanji.  He doesn’t know what last night meant, what right now means, or what Sanji plans to do. Never expected any of this.  If his expectations had been right, he’d be sitting in a jail cell right now with pending charges. It’s a whole new map to navigate, a new puzzle to piece together, and he’s not sure where to even start.  The only thing he knows at this point is he can’t assume anything about Sanji, a fact that’s starting to become increasingly irritating. And even more annoying is the comfortable feeling settling over him after the whirlwind of last night.  Given their circumstances, he should be unsettled by what they did. But he’s not. Instead it seems completely natural to be sitting in bed next to this man, totally at ease with one another, starting a brand new day. 

Not wanting to overthink it, he bluntly asks, “What now?”

Sanji hums, tilting his head slightly to the side as he searches Zoro’s questioning eye.  Finding only openness, he replies evenly, “Three weeks.”

Frowning at the man’s response, Zoro can’t help but feel slightly ticked at the reminder.  “I know,” he tersely states through gritted teeth. “That’s why I gave you Mihawk’s --”

“No, no, not that,” Sanji interrupts him, placing a hand on his bicep.  He gives the man a sly grin. “You took your sweet ass time getting to figure me out so it’s my turn now.  I want three weeks.”

Zoro glances down at the hand still resting on his arm, eyebrow raised.  Three weeks. That’s how much time he’d taken to decide on what to do with Sanji.  The brief reflection is reminder enough for a small flurry of guilt to bubble in his gut.  It’s a fair trade. And an intriguing proposition. After what happened between them last night, the confirmation of their attraction, things obviously aren’t black and white for them both.  If Sanji wants to take time to sort their shit out, he can certainly understand. Ever since he let him out of his basement, Zoro hasn’t been able to get the blond off his mind. Deciding he can agree to those terms, he slides off the blanket and stands, crossing the room to his dresser to cover his still-naked body.  

“Three weeks.”

Sanji finds himself ogling the powerful body before him, the muscles in Zoro’s strong back flexing as he slides on underwear and track pants.  Damn. He was hoping last night would’ve gotten all of that out of his system. Quickly shaking himself from his gawking, he starts dressing in his own clothes crumpled by the bed.  As he slides on his t-shirt, he glances at Zoro, who’s still shirtless and watching him with a curious eye. Pulling his head through the neckhole, Sanji nods towards the door and implores, “What do you want me to do? Your friends are here.”

Scratching his bare chest, Zoro considers his options.  Luffy’s already seen Sanji so there’s no hiding his existence.  If Sanji wants to fuck up his life, he has every tool to do so, with or without his friends.  Zoro was prepared for that fate already -- the thought doesn’t scare him a bit. The only wild card would be the man trying to tell his friends about the killings.  He glances over Sanji, who is also studying him with an inquisitive stare. There’s nothing hidden in his gaze. If Zoro’s learned anything the last few weeks, those blue eyes tell the truth.  

Logic is failing him on this endeavor, rendering him unable to explain whatever this strange bond between them could be.  It’s absurd and yet electrifying, an intensity he hadn’t come across ever before. Always one to approach his own life with reckless abandon, Zoro sticks to what he knows is right.  In this situation, playing his cards close to his chest just doesn’t seem fair. He was ready to fold before -- might as well see it to the end now. Instincts prevailing once again, he decides to trust Sanji for now.  And truth be told, he also has his own interests to satisfy. 

“Wanna get to know me, right?” Zoro asks casually as he crosses the room and enters his en suite bathroom.  Sanji listens to the sound of water running and then the man reappears, toothbrush in hand. “My friends are a good place to start,” he says through a mouthful of white foam.  “Up to you.”

Zoro continues brushing his teeth, watching Sanji with interest as he goes through the entire process of considering the offer with every moment illustrated on his face.  By the time Zoro’s spit and rinsed his mouth, the man seems to have decided. Slipping past him into the bathroom, Sanji coolly questions, “Well then, do you have an extra toothbrush?”

With a smirk, Zoro motions to the cabinet under the sink and takes his leave, the bathroom door closing behind him.  Needing to make sure Luffy hasn’t destroyed his house in the fifteen minutes it’s taken for him to get ready for the day, he stalks down the hall to the living room, relieved to see Law through the front window in the yard.  Zoro toes on his sneakers by the door and heads outside into the morning light, spotting Luffy rolling in the grass with the little daschund puppy as Law looks on with a hint of a grin.

“Didn’t answer your phone so he wanted to come.  Made him stay out here,” Law says quietly once Zoro is within earshot.  He turns his head, shifting his gaze to the blue Toyota in the driveway.  “Figured you’d rather handle your business in private.”

Zoro follows the lingering stare to Sanji’s car, nodding with understanding as he stops at Law’s side and folds his arms over his bare chest.  “Thanks,” he responds, raising a hand to scratch the light stubble on his chin. “Got it sorted out.”

“He says Nami’s quite upset.”  Law connects their gazes, studying Zoro in that obnoxiously analytic way.  Zoro returns the action with a deadpan expression, eyebrow slightly raised.  Law rolls his eyes, twisting back to watch the Sausage lick Luffy’s face as he continues, “I don’t care to know the details but I think she’ll forgive you this time.”  He gives Zoro a sidelong glance. “You dodged a bullet. The guy she had picked out wasn’t your type at all.”

“That so?”

Law nods and smirks, tilting his head in Luffy’s direction.  “Heard you like blondes.”

Sanji looks over his appearance in the bathroom mirror, heart thumping rapidly in his chest at the reality of actually getting to meet some of Zoro’s friends.  It’s all happening to so fast -- the man he previously dubbed as ‘Green Bastard’ has gone through several stark changes in his head over the last few weeks. Psychotic stranger, heinous murderer, sympathetic killer, human, hook-up -- Zoro Roronoa is a complex oddity with layers and layers of hidden depth.  And now he’s received the green light to have three weeks to study this man and everything about him. Sanji hopes he’ll find that his assumptions are correct, that Zoro does have a good heart. It’s almost as though these three weeks are unnecessary, especially with how easily Zoro agreed to them, but he wants to give himself the time to validate that whatever this strange understanding is, it doesn’t stem from sort of fucked up psychosis from the time in the basement.  Sanji smirks at his reflection as he runs a hand through his hair. Not to mention, Zoro needs to know what it’s like to have to sit in waiting too.

Teeth cleaned with an extra toothbrush, face rinsed, hair tamed, Sanji takes one last self-indulgent second to smooth a wrinkle in his pink v-neck tee.  As he opens the bathroom door, he hears the sound of an exuberant voice laughing from the living room, the loud chuckles filling the quiet house with life.  Interested in learning more about the man with the wide smile, Sanji buries his hands in his pockets and casually strolls towards the source of the noise.

“Look, Zoro! They love each other!”

Sanji arrives at the end of the hall to the image of the stranger from earlier on all fours, eyeballing a dubious interaction between Oni and a little daschund puppy.  The cat seems concerned about the new animal in her space and the puppy is tentatively sniffing Oni’s paw. It’s pretty adorable, he has to admit. Glancing up from the exchange, he finds a set of hazel eyes peering at him from the couch, their owner’s expression blank as he unabashedly continues to hold Sanji’s stare.  He can hear rustling around in the kitchen, presumably from Zoro since the man isn’t in sight.

“Good morning,” Sanji awkwardly greets the duo, fingers brushing against the pack of cigarettes stuffed in his pocket.  He really fucking needs a smoke. 

To Sanji’s surprise, the friendlier looking guy on the floor bounces to his feet and bubbly greets him, “Hey! Sausage and Oni are meeting for the first time.”  He points down to the two animals on the ground. “Wanna watch?”

“Sure,” Sanji responds with a laugh, moving to sit on the couch.  He stretches and offers a hand to the man sitting on the opposite side.  “Sanji.”

“Law.”  The man looks at his hand momentarily before quickly clasping it and letting it go.  He adjusts his position and nods towards the guy who’s seated back on the floor. “The loud one is Luffy.”

Luffy flashes Sanji a wide grin at the sound of his name and then hastily immerses himself back into staring at the small animals.

Zoro smirks to himself in the kitchen, having overheard the sound of Law and Sanji introducing themselves in the other room.  Rapping his knuckles on the countertop, he stills himself for a serene moment, basking in the reality of Sanji Black alive and on his couch with his partner.  Could’ve told him that two weeks ago and he would’ve thought it to be absurd. Now it seems like the most natural thing in the world. Deciding it’s best to just take this these things as they come, he picks up the various drinks he’d collected for his unforeseen company and enters the living room.

Striding across the open space, he hands a mug of tea to Law, a bottle of gatorade to Luffy, and an extra bottle of water he’d grabbed to Sanji.  Lowering himself onto the recliner, he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, watching intently as Oni seems to be quickly growing tired of Sausage’s pestering.  “Better watch her,” he says to Luffy, nodding to the small cat’s body language. “She ain’t happy.”

“You better not attack my Sausage!” Luffy berates Oni, brows furrowed and finger pointed at her with authority.  She apparently doesn’t appreciate his scolding, squinting and hissing at him before hopping onto the couch and into Sanji’s lap.  Luffy spins his head, eyes wide with amazement as he spots the cat rubbing against the newcomer’s hand. “Whoa! Oni usually hates strangers.  You guys must be friends already.”

Sanji nods at the observation, tickling the soft fur behind the cat’s ears.  “She knows I’ll be nice to her,” he states with a gentle smile, turning a hardened stare to Luffy’s look of shock.  “Don’t be such a brute!”

Zoro raises his eyebrow at the fiery gibe.  Always was a side of the man he knew existed, just didn’t get to experience it much.  Luckily Luffy’s pretty unaffected by any chastising but it doesn’t stop Zoro from chiming in, “She can handle herself, blondie. Don’t get all worked up.”

Sanji turns a glare towards Zoro’s mocking tone.  Perhaps down beneath the floorboards, the bastard controlled the conversation and got to make those quips without punishment but this is the real world.  A first test. With an icy stare, he retorts callously, “Of course she can handle herself. She has to -- her owner is a dumb oaf.”

Holding his breath as he waits for a reaction, Sanji’s pleasantly surprised when Zoro’s face twists into a scowl and he responds back with equal bite in his voice.  

“Better than an airhead like you.”

“Oh, another blond joke,” Sanji snaps back sardonically with a roll of his eyes.  “Thought you would’ve been more creative than that, meathead.”

Skin heating and adrenaline rising at the little challenge Sanji has issued, Zoro crosses his arms over his bare chest, grinning as he responds, “Whatever you say, flamingo.”

“ _ Flamingo _ ?”

Zoro nods to the man’s outfit.  “Pink shirt. Stupid face. Flamingo.”

“You two are so funny,” Luffy chimes in, laughing and interrupting their banter.  “Zoro, why didn’t you tell us about your friend?”

Law swings a leg and kicks Luffy lightly in the back.  “Don’t ask people that.”

Exchanging a weighty glance with Sanji, Zoro turns his eye to Luffy.  Doesn’t feel right lying to his best friend but he doesn’t really have any other option.  “Too new,” he explains briefly with a shrug. “You weren’t supposed to come ‘til tomorrow, remember?”

“Oh, yeah! Nami’s pretty mad.  Thought I’d warn you.” He digs his phone from his pocket and tosses it into Zoro’s lap.  “Check out her texts. She’s pissed.”

“The abridged version is you’re a selfish prick,” Law dully describes, knowing full well that Zoro won’t be reading through the book long texts Luffy has open on his phone.

“Who’d you piss off?” Sanji asks smugly as he settles more comfortable against the couch cushions, still happy to have received some form of approval from Luffy.  It makes him feel way less awkward.

“Nami.  He was supposed to go on some blind date last night but didn’t show up or answer her calls or texts,” Luffy answers for him, speaking as though Sanji has any clue who this girl must be.

Sanji nods thoughtfully as the realization hits that he’s the reason Zoro didn’t show up for his friend.  And even if last night hadn’t gone the way it did, the man was prepared to abandon his friends to answer for his crimes.  It’s actually pretty charming, in a fucked up kind of way. He sighs to himself, deciding to just accept the fact that whatever happens from here on out is going to be kind of fucked up.  Looking up, he’s happy to find Zoro’s stare already on him as he smirks. Their little secret. “You’re not a very good friend,” he chides as Oni stretches and jumps off his lap. He glances to the clock on the wall, eyebrows raising at the time.  “I should probably go home.”

“Aw, man! We just met!” Luffy says with a pout, petting the little dog that’s curled up in his lap.  “Don’t be a stranger!”

Sanji goes through the motions of saying goodbye to the two men before he heads out the door, Zoro excusing himself to walk him out.  The moment he’s outside, he has a smoke between his lips and lights it, exhaling slowly to ease the tension from the interaction. Leaning against his driver’s side door, he looks through the cloud of smoke to Zoro’s blank face.  “They’re entertaining.”

“They are,” Zoro agrees with a nod.

Another puff of smoke and Sanji asks, “Do you wanna do dinner tonight?”

“Yeah.”

The immediate response tugs a smirk to Sanji’s lips as he pulls out his phone.  “I need your cell number.” Information entered swiftly, he settles in his car and rolls down the window.  “Be at my place by seven.”

 

* * *

  
  


Zoro pulls into the driveway of the familiar townhome, putting his SUV in park and sitting for a brief moment as he looks over the building.  This weekend’s been the most peculiar of his life and it’s only Saturday night. After Luffy and Law left, he’d taken a long, hot shower and considered the proposal Sanji offered him.  Three weeks to get to know each other on a more normal level. Three weeks of judgment before the man decides his fate. Three weeks to sort out the unfamiliar stirring in his chest every time he thinks about that dumb blond bastard.  Zoro sighs and unbuckles his seatbelt, frowning at himself in the rearview mirror. Most frustrating about this chain of events is the lingering lack of resolution on Cosette’s case.

Sure, he’d been willing to let Sanji go because of his intrinsic inability to believe the man to be fully guilty of the murder.  He stands by that decision. But it doesn’t solve what may have happened -- why there’s footage showing Sanji at the scene of the crime, why everything seems to fit together perfectly, why he was completely convinced when he’d initially pounced.  If Sanji’s not the guilty party then someone worked really fucking hard to make sure he seemed to be. After everything he’s done to the man with tying him up in the basement, holding him for those weeks, upsetting his life and livelihood, Zoro’s even more compelled to try to solve this mystery.  For more than just Cosette. He needs to either prove to himself that Sanji’s factually innocent or confirm a deep-seated concern that’s lingered in the back of his mind -- that maybe he let personal feelings get in the way of this one.

Opening the car door, Zoro hops out and closes it behind him, heading across the driveway to the short walkway.  The next three weeks will give him ample opportunity to learn more about Sanji, who he is and who may be in his life.  Any piece of information could be a clue, any person could be a suspect, and any hope of sorting that out appropriately relies on Zoro’s ability to keep his professional interest in the case completely separate from whatever this magnetic pull between them comes to be.  He chuckles to himself as he raises a hand to knock on the door. Good thing he’s always liked a challenge.

Sanji glances at the clock over the stove as he hears the sound of two heavy knocks on his door.  Right on time. He stands from his kitchen table, smoothing his blue button up shirt as he quickly strides to the door and tugs it open, revealing Zoro’s smirking face on the other side.  They stare at each other for a heated second before Sanji moves out of the way, allowing ample space for Zoro to step into his home. As he closes the door behind the man, it quickly flashes in his mind that the last time Zoro was in here, it was to kidnap him.  The ridiculousness of it all hits him in a strange place and he can’t help but let out a snort as he turns to face Zoro again.

“What?” Zoro asks him, inquisitive expression on his face as Sanji’s short snort becomes a full on laugh.  

“Nothing, nothing,” Sanji says through stifled chuckles, trying to maintain his composure.  His feeble attempts prove futile and he bursts into loud, boisterous guffawing, doubling over and placing a hand on Zoro’s arm to steady himself.

Zoro watches with confusion as Sanji continues to cackle raucously, pale face darkening a few shades of pink as he exerts himself with his amusement.  Just as the man seems to settle down a bit, Zoro irritably asks again, “What?”

“I just --” Sanji starts and then is captured again by incredulity, completely taken over by another fit of giggles.  Zoro’s annoyed expression deepens to a full-on scowl. Placing a hand gently over his chest, Sanji stands straight and takes a deep breath.  “It’s just ludicrous that the last time you were here, it was to kill me.”

Zoro stares at Sanji dubiously for a beat before his face splits into a matching grin.  It’s completely fucked up and yet Sanji’s got tears in his eyes laughing at their situation.  Shaking his head, he gives the man a half shrug and deadpans, “A first for everything.”

“You can say that again,” Sanji agrees as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette, grinning around it as he lights up, eyes caught on Zoro’s appearance.  His black t-shirt emphasizes his bronze skin, the sleeves pulled taught around rippling biceps and showing off strong forearms. Sanji’s gaze trails down to dark fitted jeans, hugging powerful thighs in the right places.  Darting his eyes to the living room, he exhales slowly as he explains, “We never discussed the details of dinner tonight. We can go out if you want but I thought it’d be nice if I just cook something here.”

“Works for me,” Zoro assents gruffly, relieved at the suggestion.  Any of the good restaurants in the city are packed on a Saturday night.  Taking note of Sanji’s socked feet and shoes lined up by the door, he slides off his own boots.  

“Come on to the kitchen then.”  Sanji leads Zoro through the living room to the open kitchen, motioning for the man to take a seat at the table tucked in the corner.  He opens the door the fridge, peering over to Zoro. “Any allergies?”

“Nope.”

“Seafood pasta then,” Sanji affirms with a smirk, tugging out ingredients to start his sauce.  He also grabs two beers, leaving one on the counter for himself and handing the other to his guest.  A pleasant warmth flutters in his chest at the satisfied grin he receives when Zoro takes the bottle from him.  Twisting back to his ingredients, he busies himself with preparing to chop onions, celery, and parsley. Comfortable silence settles between them, only the sound of his knife filling the space as he feels Zoro’s weighty stare on him from behind.  Deciding to use this moment to start his task of getting to know the man better, Sanji casually requests, “So tell me about the two I met today.”

“Luffy and Law.”

Sanji rolls his eyes and twists over his shoulder to gape at Zoro.  “I know their names, dumbass,” he berates with a huff. He learned during their weeks together that Zoro’s a man of few words but if this has any chance of working, he needs him to start opening up.  “Who are they? Are you close?”

Zoro takes a long pull from his beer and sets the bottle on the table, leaning back in the wooden chair and crossing his arms.  He watches Sanji’s impressive knife work, answering his questions with a shrug. “Luffy’s an old friend. Law’s my partner. You could call us close.”

Sanji pauses his motions, ears perking at the use of the word ‘partner.’  Unsure of the context, he frowns as he finishes cutting up the initial ingredients and dumps them into the pot he has heated on the stove.  He gives Zoro a side-eyed glimpse, stirring the mix of vegetables and trying to sound nonchalant as he pries further, “Partner?”

“Work partner,” Zoro clarifies with amusement as he studies Sanji’s shoulders visibly relax with his words.  “Been together awhile now. He’s a character.”

“He was pretty quiet.  Luffy seemed to be more of a character to me,” Sanji says with a laugh as he adds crushed tomatoes and garlic to create his sauce.  Satisfied with the seasoning, he leaves the pot to simmer, fetching his beer from the counter and joining Zoro at the table. “Who is this Nami person that you royally pissed off?”

Zoro shakes his head and takes another swig of beer.  “Another friend. She’ll get over it.”

“All these friends and here I thought you were a hermit,” Sanji teases with a grin, tossing his earlier spent cigarette butt in the ashtray on the table.  “Trying to set you up on a blind date, I heard. Maybe you are a loner.”

“Bad habit of theirs.  What about you?” Zoro asks, sitting up in his seat with interest.  First step of discovering who all is in Sanji’s life. “Your friends?”

“My friends?” Sanji hums and digs into his pocket, pulling out his pack of smokes and lighting a fresh one up.  Inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, he gives Zoro a half-hearted shrug. “Mostly my coworkers. I spend a lot of my time at the restaurant.  There’s Keimi, she cuts my hair. Gonna go see her tomorrow.” Suddenly self-conscious of the lack of people in his life and finding Zoro to be a much more interesting topic, he shifts the conversation.  “Don’t you usually work more than this?”

Taking note of Sanji’s sudden change of discussion, Zoro rests his arm on the tabletop, thumping his thumb against the wood.  “Got some time off. The Lieutenant thinks we’re overworked.” He lets out a short laugh, picking up his beer and taking another swig.  “Just means more time to read case notes at home.”

Sanji reflects on the hours he’d spent in the basement with Zoro studying his laptop and case files.  The man certainly devoted to his work, that much is for sure. Tapping his cigarette over the ashtray, Sanji finishes off his beer and stands to check on his sauce and grab them both another.  

“Gone back the Baratie yet?”

Looking over from the stove to Zoro’s curious eye, Sanji simply shakes his head and gives the sauce another stir.  “Not yet,” he answers as he reaches into the fridge and pulls out two more bottles. Closing the door with his hip, he settles back at the table, placing one of the beers in front of Zoro.  He stubs his spent cigarette out, twisting off the bottle cap and continuing, “They said they were good until Monday so I’m taking the weekend to sort stuff out.”

Zoro can’t help but stare at the way Sanji leans his head back and wraps his lips around the bottle, long neck on display as he takes a gulp. The satisfactory sigh it pulls from the man’s mouth heats up his skin, memory returning to the intensity of last night.  Wonder for a fleeting second when that’ll happen again, he forces the thought away and instead focuses on the conversation in the present. Deciding to test the waters on what to expect from this friendship, Zoro stares at the man as he states, “Luffy wants to see you again.”

Sanji can’t help the smile that forms on his lips from Zoro’s strange attempt at an invitation.  “Does he now?” he asks with a husky laugh, crossing his legs and resting his beer bottle in his lap.  “When does Luffy wanna see me?”

“They do game night on Thursdays.”

“Thursday it is,” Sanji accepts thoughtfully, keeping his eyes connected with Zoro’s dark stare.  It’s still surprising how normal he seems, not even a hint of the murderous beast he’d first encountered.  All the intensity and seriousness is still there, but the intent has changed. It’s all the breathtaking excitement of meeting someone new and conversely it’s as though they’re old friends. A strange, comfortable juxtaposition that he finds himself welcoming wholeheartedly. 

Needing to finish dinner, Sanji silently stands and works on cooking up the various seafoods that go into the dish.  Scallops, shrimp, clams -- they’re all appropriately sauteed and seeped into the sauce, an enjoyable quiet in his kitchen as Zoro continues to drink and watch him work.  By the time the pasta’s finished, the man’s an impressive five beers in. Dishing them each a bowl, Sanji scrutinizes Zoro’s expression as he digs in for his first bite. Puzzling enough, his blank face doesn’t change as he finishes chewing and dives in for more.

“How is it?” Sanji tentatively asks, twirling pasta around his fork and making sure to stab a shrimp to complete the perfect bite.  He tastes it himself and finds nothing wrong -- just the way Zeff taught him years ago. A hint of spice, rich tomato acidity, the briny ocean flavors -- everything a seafood pasta should be.

“It’s okay,” Zoro responds with a shrug.

“Do you even have taste buds?” Sanji retorts incredulously, pointing his fork at Zoro’s bowl with emphasis.  “That’s the best seafood pasta you’ll ever eat in your life, shithead.”

Zoro smirks at the reaction he’s garnered from Sanji.  Too easy. “Just fucking with you. Pretty good.” He gives the man a smug grin.  “For a shitty cook.”

“Shitty cook?” Sanji repeats with a huff, taking another bite of food and giving Zoro a mean glare.  “Says the man who eats ramen noodles four days a week. I’m a great chef, you dumb bastard. Wouldn’t know good food if it bit you in the ass.”

“Guess you’ll have to show me,” Zoro responds teasingly as he stabs the last scallop in his bowl and finishes it off.  Honestly, it’s the best pasta he’s ever eaten but he’s not about to tell Sanji that. Riling him up is way more fun.

“There’s more if you want.”

Zoro gets up and serves himself another bowl from the steaming pot on the stove.  They finish their dinner with light banter, Zoro enjoying his second bowl even more than the first.  He helps Sanji clean up the kitchen quickly and once the leftovers are put away, they relocate to the living room couch.  Sanji traded his beer for a glass of wine, Zoro sticking with another brew. Belly full from a great meal, skin warm from his drinking and the company he’s in, he can’t help but let out a hearty sigh as his head rests against the couch cushion.

“You sound pleased with yourself,” Sanji observes in a sarcastic tone, taking a sip from his wine, eyes looking over Zoro’s relaxed posture.

“Wasn’t half bad,” Zoro replies earnestly as he takes a swig from his beer and leans forward to set it on the coffee table.  Settling back against the cushions, he glances over to Sanji and meets the man’s blue stare. A spark cracks between them, quickening his pulse rapidly.  Without hesitation, Zoro shifts closer to Sanji, reaching up to run a hand through his hair and pulling him closer to connect their lips in a kiss.

Sanji loses himself in their connection momentarily, heart racing at the feeling of Zoro’s mouth on his.  Lingering questions still on his mind, he forces himself to pull away, twisting to place his wine glass on the side table next to him.  Looking back into Zoro’s smouldering stare, he quietly asks, “Is this how you want it to be?”

“What d’ya mean?”

Keeping his gaze on Zoro’s curious eye, Sanji shrugs as he tries to find the words to explain himself.  “Last night wasn’t a fluke? This --” He points between himself and Zoro. “This is something that you want?”

Zoro’s gaze flickers down to Sanji’s hesitant gestures, coming to a full understanding of what the man is asking.  Last night may seem like a fluke -- captive turned lover in just a day’s time. Sure, it’s strange to think about it, but Zoro’s slightly confused why Sanji feels the need to check in with him.   His position is even more severe on the fucked up scale -- having sex with his captor the night after he was released. Tired of having to tiptoe around the subject and navigate this shit in any profound way, Zoro sighs and bluntly explains, “Look, it’s weird for us both.  Don’t know what it means but I want it.” He pauses. “What do you want?”

A sense of relief washes over Sanji at Zoro’s terse confirmation.  He’s spent so much of the day questioning what they could be, what it could mean, if it would ever mean anything at all.  And that’s all contingent upon him keeping a stronghold on his intuition that Zoro’s a good man. He doesn’t know the answers to all of those questions quite yet and doesn’t expect to for a long time, but he needed to know they were on the same page.  That they both feel this is something that they want and it hasn’t gone away. A part of him expected to wake up this morning completely horrified at what took place last night but the feeling never came. Instead he’s had Zoro on his mind all day, wanting more, more,  _ more _ .  Ever since he recalled that day in the restaurant, before any of this happened and he saw the green haired detective for the first time, there’s been a lingering sense of that same want.  He just needed to know Zoro felt it too. Sanji nods at Zoro’s expectant expression, giving him lust-filled eyes.

“I want it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sanji stirs underneath the blankets, an unrecognizable tune playing faintly in his dreams.  Eyes slowly blinking open, he’s faced with the blurry red lines of the digital clock on his dresser clearing to reveal it’s a little past three in the morning.  There’s shifting behind him, pulling the covers off his shoulder slightly. Closing his eyes again, he listens as the noise stops and Zoro’s gruff voice rumbles next to him.  Must’ve been his phone. He opens his eyes again, wondering who would be calling the man so late in the night.

“Where?” Zoro asks as he suddenly sits up in bed.

Rolling over, Sanji listens to a few more words of broken conversation until Zoro hangs up and sighs.  “What’s going on?” he asks through a yawn as the man flings back the blanket and searches the floor for his clothes.  He sits up as Zoro pulls on his underwear and jeans, imploring further, “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” Zoro responds distractedly as he searches the dark floor for his black t-shirt, grunting angrily when he smacks the side of his head against the wooden bed frame.  Fingers finally landing on the soft material, he tears the shirt over his head and pauses when he sees Sanji’s look of concern illuminated from the light spilling in from the window.  “Crime scene. Gotta go to work.”

“Hope it’s not a bad one,” Sanji mumbles dumbly, unsure how else to acknowledge a crime scene.

Zoro trudges across the room to make his exit, lingering in the doorway as he glances back at Sanji still sitting up in bed.  Mihawk already told him it’s another electrocution -- he knows it’s going to be bad. He finds two round eyes staring at him intensely through the faint moonlight and is suddenly compelled to keep that information to himself, not wanting to worry the man.  Instead he shrugs and taps his fingers on the doorframe, giving Sanji a resolute nod. 

“See you later.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, friends! let me know what you think :)


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